


The Widows

by imdisappointingmyparents



Series: Bona Dea [1]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Divorce, F/F, Gen, Giving the UD Women Their Day in the Limelight in the Worst Way Possible, Grief/Mourning, Mild Sexual Content, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Violent/Gory/Disturbing Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdisappointingmyparents/pseuds/imdisappointingmyparents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight went up. Four came down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chrysanthemum

**Author's Note:**

> This work has not been beta read.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief is a pretty word for an ugly sensation.

This wasn’t Emily’s first time at a funeral.

It wasn’t even her first time at a funeral without a body.

When she was four the engine of a 747 had exploded over the Atlantic, causing the plane to careen into the raging sea and sending four hundred and ten people to their watery graves. One of those four hundred and ten had been her father, traveling on business. Rescue crews had scoured the crash site for weeks, finding only shattered, useless remnants of what had once been a working marvel of engineering. No bodies were ever recovered.

Emily remembered her mother trying to gently explain to her far too young daughter that _sometimes people go away and it’s not because they don’t want to, but we won’t be able to see them anymore_. She remembered her mother’s hitching voice and unwashed hair, the grief slowly undoing her like a thread pulled from a yarn doll.

Fourteen years later, about two months after her jealousy and insecurity had killed two of her closest friends, she’d sat in the back of a memorial service, choking back sobs and staring resolutely at her feet. Unable to bear the stares of Bob and Melinda Washington, she had slipped out of the wake an hour early and had downed a bottle of vodka she’d snatched from one of the less vigilant convenience stores in town. She’d woken up on Jessica’s couch with an ice pack on her forehead and no memory of the night before.

When people you love die suddenly and horribly, your connections with them lie around your heart like a carcass, putrefying and infecting your insides until your body is riddled with holes and you forget how to breathe right. Everyone she’d lost—her father, Hannah, Beth, Mike, Josh, Chris, Matt ( _oh God, Matt_ )—had taken a piece of her with them when they’d gone and at this point she wasn’t even sure how much of her was left.

Emily tried to laugh as Chris’s sister, who was only twenty-three but looked as though she’d aged fifteen years overnight, told a funny story about Chris from when they were kids. It was the kind of eulogy Chris would’ve wanted, she thought. Good-humored and wistful and filled with stupid inside jokes that probably would’ve made him double over. His sister looked like him, with short blonde hair and kind, weary eyes set behind wire-frame glasses. It was surreal to hear about him from her perspective. Chris was always such a goofy uncle to the group, so it was weird to imagine him being somebody’s baby brother. Somebody used to clean and dress his skinned knees and hold him while he cried over a broken toy. Somebody’s beloved little boy, dead at nineteen.

She moved her tear-blurred gaze to steal a look at her surviving friends, all in a row on the pew across from the one Emily and her mother (her stepdad couldn’t be arsed to come, of fucking course) currently occupied. Jessica was hunched over sobbing, probably moving past the realm of shock into genuine grief for the first time since the night on the mountain. Sam was comforting her as well as she could, massaging her back and ignoring the tears streaming from her own eyes. Ashley’s face was curiously blank. It probably didn’t look very good that Emily was quite conspicuously sitting apart from them, but she figured that didn’t matter much. This wasn’t about her.

Bad things tended to happen when things were about her, anyway.

She spent the wake seated on the steps of Chris’s back porch, a plastic cup of water (Sam had gently steered her away from the wine—nobody wanted a repeat of last year’s fiasco) held loosely in one hand. Her bite itched. Emily sighed and fought the urge to pick at her stitches.

It wouldn’t have been the unforgettable trip Josh had promised them without some souvenirs.

Memories of the safe room came rushing to her, uninvited and loud. Shouting, panicked voices and the click of the pistol drawing all the warmth out of her limbs and the paranoid glint in the eyes of the people she’d once loved as her thoughts degenerated into a terrified mantra of _whywhywhywhywhywhy—_

“Emily?”

Emily jolted, spilling some of her water on the steps. Her mother sat down on the steps beside her, her expression unreadable. She pushed a lock of grey-streaked hair behind her ear and looked at her daughter as if checking for cracks. She spoke to her child in Japanese, the way she did when matters were delicate.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” she said, “We can leave soon, if you’d like.”

“I should stay—”

“There’s no need,” her mother assured her, “You’ve done all you can. All we can do now is endure and keep his family—their families—in our thoughts.”

Emily took a swig of water to avoid having to talk. Her mother put a hand on her shoulder and drew back like she’d been stung when Emily flinched away.

“Sorry,” Emily mumbled. “Reflex.”

Her mother nodded, saying nothing. The two sat there, neither mother nor daughter strangers to the ache of loss but feeling it anew all the same. In the yard Chris’s beagle Yoda paced around in the grass, looking as though he was wondering why all these people were here and where his master had gone. 

\------------ 

Chris’s mother was hugging a murderer.

“You meant so much to our son,” Mrs. Anders was telling her, “He was so glad to have you in his life.”

Ashley was going to be sick.

He’d pounded on the door, he’d screamed, he’d _begged_ her, and she’d done nothing. She could’ve saved him and instead she’d turned to stone. It was funny; at the time everything had been blurry and far away—Chris’s voice had reached her as if she were underwater—but now her memories were crystal clear. The monster had come up behind him and torn through his flesh like he was made out of plasticine. His head had toppled to the ground, terror and betrayal frozen on his face.

For a nerdy little nobody, she’d racked up quite the body count: Hannah, Beth, Josh, Chris; they were all dead because of her, and Emily would be too, if Mike hadn’t come to his senses. She’d come to the mountain hoping to atone and she’d just ended up turning into even more of a monster than she had been a year prior, when she’d gleefully watched her friend roast under cruel laughter. And everybody talked to her like she was the most innocent little thing.

She should be locked away before she hurt anyone else. And considering how hard every day was becoming and how quickly her mind was unraveling, she supposed getting locked away eventually was more likely than not.

Ashley got as far away from Chris’s family as she could as soon as she was done giving her condolences. As she ducked through the crowd of mourners she caught sight of Matt’s little sister Robyn standing near the refreshment table, gazing off into space with this awful, bewildered stare. Ashley had no siblings—she couldn’t even to begin to imagine what losing one was like. Would sweet, precocious Robyn end up like Josh, full of anger and resentment and pain; anxious for someone to blame, something to hurt, so she could feel whole again? Well, if she ever went looking for the guilty party, she wouldn’t have to look too hard.

Ashley Cohen, sibling killer. Snappy enough to put on a business card.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Jess until she slammed headlong into her. Jessica jumped back and squeaked, eyes wide and wild. She lost her balance and stumbled backwards, her cane tumbling to the floor. Ash caught her in an awkward embrace before she could fall further. The whole scene was grotesquely comical, a meet cute from a 90’s teen movie about broken, murderous kids.

“Sorry about that,” Ashley said as she helped Jess to her feet and grabbed her cane for her, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” Jess whispered. She draped her free arm across herself in a one-armed hug. She wore a long blueish skirt that ran all the way down to her shoes and a simple black shirt with sleeves long enough to cover up the scars on her arms. Her face was covered in layers of foundation but the scars still found their way through. Ash briefly considered asking her how she was doing, but knew it was a stupid question.

“Um…I think Stephanie is looking for you,” Jess mumbled.

Ashley’s heart dropped into her stomach. Had Chris’s sister sensed her guilt when she’d spoken with the family? Stephanie had always been freakishly intuitive. Maybe she hoped to get a confession out of Ash. Or maybe she’d just order her out of the house, never to see the family she’d shattered again.

Ash considered just booking it out of there. Hardly the most cowardly thing she’d ever done.

Before she could though, she saw Jessica look up at something behind her and say, “Oh, here she is.”

Stephanie did not look vindictive, just miserable and very, very tired. She held a small cardboard box awkwardly in her hands.

“Hey Ash,” she said plainly.

“H-hi Steph,” Ashley stuttered back. “What’s, um, what’s in the box?”

Stephanie blinked. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten she was holding anything.

“Oh, um,” she held up the box for Ash to have a better look. “This is just some of Chris’s old books and stuff. You want to be a writer, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Well, they’re always saying, ‘if you want to be a good writer, you have to read a ton’, so, uh, I thought these might help.” She shoved the box into Ashley’s arms like it was covered in spiders. “He would’ve wanted you to have these anyway, I think.”

Ashley nodded and smiled in a way that she hoped didn’t look too much like a grimace.

As soon as she got home, she shoved the box underneath her bed and resolved to never look at it again.

\------------

People used to tell her she looked like a Disney Princess. She’d had a twinkle in her eye and a spring in her step and a dream wedding in mind. Emily used to speculate that she had cartoon animals do her chores for her.

Nowadays people just waited until they thought she was out of earshot and whispered, “poor thing.”

Her body and mind had been shattered beyond repair over the course of just ten hours. Ten fucking hours had destroyed her entire life. Ten hours had killed her friends, snuffed out the light of her life, ruined her face, shattered her bones and proved her every childhood nightmare right. Those who understood were too full of shadows and broken glass to provide any real comfort. Those who didn’t gave her pitying looks and patronizing encouragements and advice she neither needed nor wanted.

She wanted her old life back, and if she couldn’t have that, she just wanted losing so much to _mean_ something.

Instead, all she got was pity.

“Poor thing.”

Jessica wanted to hide, to lock herself up in her bedroom and never come out. But her therapist had told her that isolating herself was the worst thing she could do. She couldn’t shut down, had to keep going. But now that her dream job was damn near impossible Jess knew that she wasn’t really going anywhere. It was like somebody had blocked off the river of her life with a dam, and now the water just fanned out and pooled, aimless and pointless.

She figured she was pretty and very little else. Or rather, she used to be pretty, and now she was barely more than nothing.

_“Who needs grades when you’ve got all the natural advantages you can handle?”_

Fat lot of good those natural fucking advantages were doing her now.

Jess sat in the back of the car, fiddling with a button on her shirt. Every now and again Dad Mark’s concerned eyes would look at her in the rearview mirror. It reminded her of when she was five and her other dad drove her to the doctor because a friend’s guinea pig had caused her eyes to swell shut. She remembered Dad Charlie’s panicked voice calling back to her every five seconds: “How are you doing Jessie? Are you okay? Hold on, hold on, we’re almost there. You’re gonna feel all better.”

Dad Mark knew better than to tell her she was going to feel better any time soon, yet still he watched her, his gaze brimming with the silent protectiveness she’d known ever since she was a child.

“I’m proud of you for sticking with therapy,” he said at last. “I know this is just about the exact opposite of fun, but I really think it’s gonna help.”

Jess made a noncommittal little sound and stared out the window. Outside the car was a perfect portrait of suburban tranquility. Not a cloud blotted the California sky. A gaggle of young children played in the streets, watched over by a group of proud mothers talking amongst themselves and occasionally casting fond glances down at their children. Jess watched a young couple walk down the street, hand and hand, so carefree and happy and obnoxiously affectionate that Jessica thought for a moment that she was going to throw up. Had she and Mike really looked like that once?

 _Mike._ The name made her chest hurt, even when she was just thinking it. He’d run for her, he’d saved her, and she couldn’t return the favor. Maybe it was her fault for stealing him away in the first place. Had he still been with Em, he never would’ve had to worry about saving her. Emily could take care of herself in a way Jess could never even hope to imitate. Em also wouldn’t have been stupid enough to think that going out into the snow in her goddamn underwear and screaming into the spooky woods about her intention to fuck her boyfriend was a good idea. Jesus Christ, what had she been thinking?

She’d been such a child. A selfish, idiotic child who'd killed two girls, broken her best friend’s heart and led her boyfriend to his death. She should’ve been the one to die, not Mike. Mike had been better, stronger, smarter. Mike had saved everyone while Jess had just been a burden. And a burden she still was, dragging her few surviving friends down in a desperate attempt to get back up.

The car stopped in front of an unassuming, one story building with cream colored stone walls and a red clay pipe-tile roof. Jess dragged herself carefully out of the car and limped to the door. She stretched out a shaking hand to open the door but it was flung open before she could touch the knob. Out of the building marched Emily, who stopped just short of colliding with her. Surprise and a hint of nervousness flickered on her face before she went back to her usual hawk-eyed glare.

Silence. Jess directed her gaze to a nearby potted plant.

“You here to see your shrink?” Emily asked neutrally.

“Y-yeah,” Jess replied, still not looking at her. “You too?”

“No, I just love hanging around random-ass psychiatric clinics for no reason,” Emily snapped. She rolled her eyes and strode past her former best friend. She got a few feet past Jess before hesitating. She turned to face Jessica, who forced herself to look back.

Emily opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked away and back. Coughed.

“Um,” she said at last, “Don’t be late for your session. That’s all I was gonna say.”

And with that she was gone.

Jessica tried to pay attention as her therapist droned on about recovery and readjustment, but the harder she tried to focus the more lost she got in her memories of sleepovers and two-AM phone calls and late-night ice cream runs with her favorite partner in crime.

\----------

The night Beth had died, things between her and Sam had been messy. Their fight hadn’t even been over anything major. It had been an accumulation of things, really; a miscommunication here, a bout of unfounded jealousy there, all bottled up and buried and not talked about until things had just exploded at the lodge. Sam didn’t even remember now what the stupid quarrel had been about. Nothing and everything; the thin veneer of a petty disagreement covering up two years’ worth of unaddressed problems. Sam hated nothing quite like she hated conflict, and at the time she couldn’t have imagined anything worse happening to her than suddenly hurling barbs and fire at the girl she loved so, so much. She’d stalked out of the kitchen, fuming and fighting back tears when Jess had come up to her and asked her if she wanted in on a secret prank to take her mind off the fight.

It occurred to her that she could now say that the night she lost her girlfriend and her best friend at the same time had been the _second_ worst night of her life.

Maybe it would become a yearly thing. A new violent tragedy brewing every February like a tempest blown down from the north, each one more traumatic and painful than the one that came before. There was a novel in that idea, she thought. Sam should tell Ashley about it before the next cataclysm swallowed her up too.

The community had been talking about setting up a memorial somewhere on the grounds of their old high school. Something classy and understated and respectful. Emily’s family was doing most of the financial legwork. The memorial for the Washington children was already under construction. That one was going to be in a park somewhere in Burbank, surrounded by soft grass and sweet smelling eucalyptus trees. It would be a bit of a commute to get from one memorial to the other.

So many dead friends, so little time.

She remembered Jessica, dead-eyed and tattered, drifting out of the interrogation room like a ghost. As the paramedics that had just arrived at the station rushed her, Sam overheard Jess’s confused voice asking the same question over and over, as if the paramedics, fresh on the scene and just beginning to assess the situation, had all the answers.

“Mike. Where’s Mike? He came for me. He saved me. Where is he? Where is Mike? I want Mike.”

Everyone she’d talked to—Sam, Ashley, the police—had told her the same thing: _he didn’t make it. He was lost in the fire. I’m so sorry._ Yet still she asked, as if she suspected they’d just hidden him away somewhere. As if Sam hadn’t burned him alive to save her own skin.

The press had dubbed Sam the hero of the story, although she knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Heroes didn’t panic at the last second and abandon their friends to burn. There weren’t any heroes in their story. Just a bunch of scared, foolish children with no idea what the hell they were doing. But that wasn’t really a story you could sell. So the media took their ugly tale of horror and distrust and turned it into a heart-wrenching tragedy about young lovers torn apart by disaster.

The bodies of the wendigo must have been recovered from the lodge, Sam thought. She hadn’t heard anything about it on the news, so they must have been covering it up. What other creatures, she wondered, had caused something horrific to happen only for their nature to be covered up for the sake of the public? What else was out there?

Sam didn’t ever want to know the answer. She had other responsibilities. Friends to care for, hatchets to bury, recoveries to make. The survivors were more vulnerable than ever. Someone had to watch over them, and since it had always been her before, why change that? None of the others were in any condition to play mother hen.

(Not that she was either, really, but she couldn’t stop to worry about that.)

Sam knocked softly on Ashley’s bedroom door. Once it had been covered with charcoal drawings, newspaper clippings, and pictures of her friends, but now it was barren, the pinprick holes left by thumbtacks the only indication that anything had been there before. The canvas bag Sam was holding sagged under the weight of its contents until it was almost touching the floor.

“Ash? It’s me. You in there?”

No answer. Sam glanced back down the stairs to the antechamber where Ashley’s mother still stood. Ms. Cohen gave her a quick nod. Sam turned back to the door.

“Ash, I’m coming in, okay?” She carefully pushed open the door and walked into Ashley’s even-messier-than-normal room. All the curtains were closed, and the only real light source in the room was the computer purring in the center of the room, playing something for its owner. Ashley sat on her bed, wearing nothing but a tank top and ratty flannel shorts. Her laptop was balanced on her crossed legs. Whatever was on the monitor bathed Ashley’s pale face in flickering off-white light. Her headphones were in and her eyes were glued to the screen. She didn’t appear to have noticed Sam come in at all.

“Ashley?” Sam said, a little louder this time. Ash looked up, startled. Sam held up the bag and gave it a little shake.

“I brought you some things,” she said, and hopped on the bed after throwing one of the curtains open. Ashley blinked in the sudden daylight. Sam pulled out a water bottle and placed it in Ashley’s hand. Then she took out a hairbrush and set about brushing through the tangled mane of Ash’s hair.

“I brought some popcorn too,” Sam told her, “We can watch movies downstairs after this, yeah?”

Ashley said nothing. Sam put down the brush for a minute and began to gently massage her younger friend’s shoulders.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam whispered, “Not Chris, not Em, not any of it. Okay? And don’t try telling me otherwise, ‘cause I won’t have any of that.”

Ashley whimpered. Sam gently turned her around to find that her lovely green eyes were glistening with tears. Sam put her hands on her shoulders and leaned in, planting a kiss on her forehead and pulling her into a hug. Ashley began to sob. Sam ran her hand over Ashley’s hair, over and over again while repeating her comforting words like a chant, like saying them enough would actually make Ash believe them.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not sure what possessed me to write this womanly angst-fest. Oh well. I hope you found it satisfactory.  
> Not sure when the next update will be, since my classes are starting up again with a vengeance and as much as I love this messed up bad choice simulator of a game, school's gotta come first, you know? But! It will be out eventually. Of this I am certain.  
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.


	2. Asphodel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepless nights are had, investigations are made, and burned bridges are reassessed.

It was around three o’clock in the morning when the phone rang. The sound pulled Sam out of a shallow, fitful slumber. As she fought her way out of her nightmare the monsters that had been haunting her sleep crawled back under her bed to wait out Sam’s waking hours. Sam breathed in and out, the careful, metered way she’d learned form years of yoga classes, and took a moment to re-orient herself. Her bedroom, steeped in shadow, was the same as it always had been. No monsters lurked there but the ones her mind conjured up.

 _Easy now_ , she told herself, _easy now_.

Sam fumbled in the dark for her phone. The screen was bright with Ashley’s name. Sam hit the green “accept” button without thinking. It had become routine by this point. She heard the usual sound of Ashley’s labored breathing as she brought the phone to her ear.

“Ash,” she said, “Ash? It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”

“…It was…it was right behind me…it was…it was gonna…”

“Ash. Hey Ash? Can you close your eyes for a minute?”

“…O-okay.”

“Are they closed?” Sam asked.

Ash made a little affirmative noise over the phone.

“Okay. Put one hand on your chest, kind of by your collarbone, and one right under your ribs. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

“Good. You’ve got this, Ash. I’m gonna count to five. I want you to breathe in through your nose, slowly, until I get to five. Can you do that?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah…”

“Okay. Ready? One…”

Sam counted. Ashley breathed in. When she hit five she instructed Ash to exhale, slowly, while she counted to five again. After the whole ritual was over, Sam listened carefully to her friend’s somewhat calmer breaths over the phone and spoke in a slow, soothing voice.

“Feel any better?”

“Yeah. A little. I’m so sorry. I keep doing this, and it’s…it’s leeching on you, I can tell—”

“You aren’t leaching on anyone,” Sam reassured her. “You’re doing what you have to do. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, helping people helps me too.” That was true, for the most part. And in any case, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to delving back into the world of nightmares and panicked awakenings. Coaching Ashley through her attack was a welcome distraction. On the other end, Ashley made an effort to get her breathing back under control again.

“Do you need me to come over?” Sam asked.

“No, no,” Ashley told her, “It’s okay. I’ve kept you up enough. You—you should sleep. I’m sorry.”

“Ash, it’s fine, really,” Sam said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll just, um, go back to sleep now, I guess. Thanks for helping me. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Sam told her. Then an idea came to her, “Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow?”

(The question was a formality more than anything. None of the women did much of anything these days.)

“No, not really,” Ash mumbled predictably. “Why?”

“I was just thinking, maybe we should hang out tomorrow. You and me,” Sam said. “Nothing big, just, I don’t know, we could get brunch at that one place you like.”

“Oh, um, are you sure?” Ashley asked, “I mean, it’s just…I haven’t really been out since…”

“Do you wanna sleep on it?”

“…I…yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Okay, sounds good to me. Night, Ash.”

“Night.”

Sam hung up and lay back down. She’d counted nearly every crack and crevice in her ceiling twice over before she finally drifted off.

The following morning she sat at a glass table, the surface fogged over with age and particularly insidious grease stains, nibbling at a fresh apple turnover (“There’s no milk in this, right?”) and watching Ashley stare down at her eggs and toast with disinterest. She looked a little better than normal, but Sam suspected that was just because she was making an extra effort that morning. Ash’s hair was brushed for once, and she’d even put on a light amount of makeup. She wore a soft-looking sweater and leggings, with one of her favorite beanies, a birthday gift from Jess, sitting atop her head.

“Not that into your food, huh?” Sam asked.

“Is it always gonna be like this?”

Sam looked at her friend. There was fear in her eyes, but it was different, more hollow. The liquid panic that had sent Ashley in spirals on the mountain had dried up and left nothing but dread and a morbid kind of acceptance.

“You mean,” Sam said, “always full of, like, nightmares and trauma and guilt and shit?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Sam said immediately, then, “Well, yes and no. I mean, we’ll probably never be the people we were before, but we’ll definitely get better than this. We have to.” Ashley didn’t look particularly convinced. Unthinkingly, Sam reached out and took Ash’s had in her own, moving her thumb against the back of her hand in little figure eights.

“When I lost Beth and Hannah, I thought I’d never really be happy again,” Sam told her, “And it’s, it’s still hard sometimes but…” she swallowed,     “…but every day it got a little easier. I got a little better. And that’s gonna happen to you too. You’re gonna get better, Ash. I promise.” She gave Ashley’s hand a soft squeeze. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Outside the café, a light spring rainfall was starting up, covering the landscape in fresh water and clearing out the dirt and grime in the gutters. Not a perfect cleansing, but definitely a welcome change from the dry, suffocating heat. The water would clear away the smog for a bit—it would come back after a while, but at least it would temporarily be gone.

\------------

Jessica smiled a little at the punchline of some dumb, funny vine Sam had sent her. Her Facebook and Twitter had become minefields full of reminders of them, and she seldom had the energy to go on Tumblr or Pintrest these days, and so she entertained herself with short, mindless videos and reruns of _MasterChef_ and avoided just about anything or anyone else. She pulled her blankets a little tighter around herself and was just about to go on the hunt for more vines when she was startled by a pounding on the door downstairs. A chill came over her. _It’s here it’s here it’s here it’s here—_

“Jackson?” her brother David’s voice echoed up to her. “Uh, what’s up, man?”

“Is Jessica here?” Mike’s little brother responded. Jess felt her throat tighten.

“Oh, um, she isn’t really up for seeing anybody today,” David told him. Jessica sighed. _Nice_ _one_ , _Dave_. _Couldn’t_ _just_ _say_ _I_ _wasn’t_ _here?_

“I know, I know,” Jackson’s voice was growing agitated, “I just—I need to talk to her for like five minutes, okay? Just five minutes.”

“Jackson, look—”

“No!” Jackson cut him off. He sounded close to tears. “Somebody’s gotta tell me the truth. We don’t even know what happened up there. And nobody’s telling us anything. She was up there. She’s gotta know something.”

“She wasn’t even with him most of the night,” David told him, obviously trying to keep his voice level, “That’s what she told me.”

“Bullshit!” Jackson screamed. “She’s his girlfriend. She has to know something. She has to.” His words were followed by the sound of a young adolescent boy bounding up the steps to her room. “Jessica! Jessica, I know you’re in there. Talk to me, please. Please just—HEY! Get off me! Get off!”

“You need to leave, Jackson, I’m sorry.”

“No! No! Stop it! JESSICA!”

Jess put her hands over her ears and waited for it all to stop.

An hour or two later, she heard a polite, barely audible knock on her door.

“You alright in there, Smurfette?” David called.

Jessica was the only girl in her entire family. Two dads, two brothers, and her. She never heard the end of people, mostly members of her own family, joking about it. Now though, the silly nickname brought her comfort beyond what she could articulate.

“I’m okay, yeah,” Jess replied.

“Mind if I come in?”

“N-not at all.”

Her older brother slipped in the door and moved into the room. He was a big, intimidating guy, with massive forearms and proudly displayed battle scars from his tours of Iraq. There was a kind, bountiful heart underneath all those layers of muscle and gruffness, though. He was practically the human equivalent of bulldog.

“You know, the first time I came back from Iraq, I couldn’t sleep right for weeks.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked out the window. “Didn’t want to go anywhere either. The world was just full of danger suddenly, you know?”

Jess nodded. She knew.

“I don’t know what kind of shit you and your friends went through on that mountain,” he said, “But I can try to help. However you like. Even if you just need to get away from everything for a while.”

Jess was going to thank him and wave him away, but then a thought came to her. Something she hadn’t done in well over a year.

“Can we go to the cliffs?”

David pulled out his phone and looked over his schedule. It a massive inconvenience for him to take her there, she knew, but she also knew he wouldn’t say no.

_Selfish child. Selfish, selfish child._

“Yeah, I can do that,” he told her with a smile, “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

The Palos Verdes Estates were about thirty miles away from downtown Los Angeles; getting there from where Jess lived usually took a little longer than an hour in fair traffic. There were beaches and sea cliffs all over the place there, which made for excellent parties and day trips. The last time she’d been on this excursion, she’d been with all the others, heading down to Bluff Cove to celebrate Beth and Hannah’s birthday. It had been in early June, the summer between Junior and Senior Year. Jess had sat whooping and cheering in the bed of Mike’s truck, already boozed up and positively euphoric. Beth had steadied her, laughing and shaking her head at the sight of her. _Hey, leave some beer for the birthday girls, will ya?_ Sam and Hannah had been watching the spectacle from a distance, rolling their eyes good-naturedly. Matt’s car had passed them on the highway and Jess had responded to Chris and Josh’s teasing shouts with some loud words of her own, most of them too vulgar to bear repeating. Inside the truck, Mike had driven with Emily by his side, the two of them basking in what had then been uncomplicated teenage love.

The memory made her chest hurt. They’d all been so young and reckless and _happy_. Jess didn’t think she’d ever be that happy, or anything even remotely close to it, again. Several months after that birthday she’d been in Mike’s truck again, riding shotgun that time, ignoring the lump in her throat that got bigger every time she glanced at her phone and saw another one of Emily’s furious, wounded texts blowing up her phone. _How dare you. You backstabbing whore. I’m never speaking to you again._ Mike had gently pulled the phone out of her hand and slipped it into his glove box. Neither of them had spoken. They’d taken in the odd mixture of guilt and lust like a noxious yet intoxicating gas. They’d pulled over at an all night diner and Mike had made a fool of himself dancing to the ancient jukebox in the corner to make her laugh. To take her mind off a crumbling friendship that had once meant the world to her.

Now he was dead, and Em had daggers in her eyes and ice in her heart, and Jess had nothing but ugly scars and a boatload of nastily-learned life lessons.

David pulled off the road into a makeshift parking lot shaded by a thicket of trees. Jess carefully pulled herself out of the car and limped over to the edge of the cliffs. She rested her cane on the ground and sat, staring out at the open ocean. The sun was just beginning to set, tingeing the sky with soft oranges and pinks. She’d wanted to take Mike here at some point, talk to him about all her thoughts and feelings and hopes for the future; all her insecurities about herself and the relationship and if everything with Emily made her a bad person.

_No Jess. Killing Hannah and Beth with a prank makes you a bad person. But that barely crossed your mind back then, did it?_

Mike was gone now. There were so many things she’d never be able to tell him, so many debts she’d never be able to repay. A breeze came in from the sea. Jessica breathed in the scent of salt water and felt the wind stir the baggy clothes she wore. David walked over from the car and sat down beside her. The sun was dipping below the horizon, a beautiful, celestial creature fading and falling into the sea to drown.

\------------

The sweatshirt was, but for its size and state, otherwise totally unremarkable. It was light grey, with shoelace drawstrings and a single large pocket on the abdomen. It was completely covered in dirt and grass stains, and looked as though it hadn’t been washed in weeks. Emily had no idea how long it had been hiding out in the back of her closet. As she held it in her shaking hands she fought the urge to bring it up to her face and breathe in its scent. The thing was huge; if she tried to put it on it’d easily fall to her knees. She’d never been one for fawning over her boyfriends’ clothing, due in large part to how horrendously they chose to dress themselves.

And yet.

Emily’s eyes stung. She buried her face in the sweatshirt’s folds and let her tears darken the fabric. It was just the kind of thing he’d wear. Comfortable and durable and absolutely _hideous_. The thing you’d wear to practice on a rainy day and have no qualms with getting dirty. The thing that’d soak up all the abuse you took from a life of running and shoving and sweating, whose stains you’d wear with pride because they were proof you’d lived.

The bright young boy made of summer and thundering heartbeats had courted a woman made of winter and death. He’d lit so many fires trying to keep her warm and she’d snuffed them all out until finally, still unsatisfied, she’d taken the fire of his life and left him a frozen husk on a mountain somewhere. The stolen heat had turned poisonous in her lungs and she’d breathed it upon her foes. Then, like a coward, she’d fled as the charming man who’d stolen her teenage heart had perished in much more literal flames. The men who’d slept with her, it seemed, had an unhappy tendency to end up dead.

It was unfortunate she couldn’t do the world a favor and pass the curse onto herself.

Emily pulled the sweatshirt away from her face and laid it flat on the floor. Slowly, and with more care than she’d ever treated anything of his before, she smoothed it out and folded it, ironing out any creases with her hands. She stood, sweatshirt held in her trembling hands, and stepped into the recesses of her closet, slipping the folded keepsake into an empty hatbox near the back. If her mother found it, there was a risk she’d accidentally throw it in the wash, and then he’d be gone from it. It’d just be fabric. She couldn’t handle the thought of that, of losing his trace. She didn’t deserve it, the treasure of his memory, the knowledge that such a caring man had ever even existed, but hardly anything she’d ever gotten had been deserved, so how was this any different?

They’d only ever been in her room once. She wasn’t a huge fan of letting people into her house, much less her own room, so letting him into her bedroom so early in their relationship had been unprecedented, to say the least. But the lodge trip had been coming up and she’d needed help with packing, and so into her room he’d come, whistling at her finery and trying not to shed too much dirt on her floor. The stress of it all, of seeing Josh and Jess and Mike again at that place, had set her off before she could stop herself and she’d stood there, tears in her eyes and a shirt clutched in a death grip in one hand while he held her loosely and spoke to her in soothing tones. She’d tired to hard to hide it from him, what a neurotic wreck she really was, but she hadn’t even been able to keep up the charade for three goddamn weeks. If he’d ever been displeased with the human disaster she was, he’d done a commendable job of hiding it. Every time she’d lashed out or bitched he’d forgiven her.

Well, that kindness had really served him well, hadn’t it?

Emily kicked the wall with her bare foot and felt the rush of pain as bubbles of blood bloomed in the cracks of her fractured toenail.

Damn it. Damn it. _Damn_ it.

Who the hell was she to tell him off and treat him like shit? To expect the world of him? To force a scared little boy to smother all his fear and play the part of her valiant knight? She could have saved him, and instead she got him killed. Fed him right to the monsters that tore the men limb from limb. It was strange, now that she thought about it. At the time, she’d chalked it up to coincidence, but now the death toll gave her pause.

Why just the men? What had the women done to deserve life that the men hadn’t done?

In her heart of hearts she knew it really was just coincidence. Just bad luck. Still, she couldn’t deny it was strange. Neither could the fringe tabloids, many of whom were now suggesting that the women on the mountain had banded together to murder their boyfriends. The evidence stood completely to the contrary of this, yet still people ate the rumors up like they were fucking chocolate. Lovely. Just what they needed.

Her family’s lawyers had kept the vultures at bay for the most part. Emily wasn’t much in the charity department but getting the reporters off everyone’s asses and trying to help everyone have some semblance of a normal life was really the least she could do. It gave her some much-needed privacy as well, so. What’s good for the goose.

Emily sighed and frowned at her wounded toe. Fixing the nail meant a pedicure, which was honestly a total pain in the ass. She hated having to sit still while some middle-aged soccer mom went on and on about whatever inane subject struck her fancy, no matter how nice the treatment felt. Going with Jess in the old days had made it more bearable, fun even, but that was no longer a possibility.

That being said—

Emily swallowed. The fight in the cabin seemed so petty now. But there was no way to take back the things she had said, to just entomb her anger and act like nothing had ever happened. That was simply not possible. Jessica was in a whole different world of hurt than her now. Emily might have been afflicted with unspeakable trauma, but at least she still had a future. There was nothing Emily could do to help her now. Unwillingly, she thought back to the night she’d spent at Jessica’s after she’d panicked and run out on Mike right before was to take her virginity, back when she was young and even more tightly wound than she was now. Jess had massaged her back and quieted her. She had let her sleep in the same bed and never once mocked her for her act of cowardice. Jess had been her friend back even when Emily was an untouchable, an ignored, dorky know-it-all with thick prescription glasses and a wardrobe that made her cringe in retrospect.

Emily took a moment to get her breathing under control. So many things she’d once treasured were now dead. But there was at least one thing that could still be resurrected, if only she had the balls.

Emily’s hands shook as she scrolled through her contacts, hesitating at the name _Jessica Pratt_. There was facing a mineshaft full of bloodthirsty monsters, and then there was this.

The message she ended up sending was short and to the point.

 

**Hey**

**I want to see you.**

**Let me know if you’re free Saturday.**

Well. It was a start.

\------------

 

She was running. The caverns were claustrophobic and lined with bloodied saws. Behind her the monsters shrieked with bloodlust. Running blind, she nearly ran into a pig disemboweled on a hook. _Once upon a time there were three little pigs and a big bad wolf._ The caverns distorted the sound, confused her. Where was she? Who was calling out to her?

“Help me!”

Jessica?

No. It couldn’t be. Jessica was dead. Everyone was dead. The maniac had killed them. And she had stood by and let them be sliced in half, decapitated, shot in the head. All her friends were dead, and she had killed them. More voices joined the cacophony. The frightened voices of ghosts who didn’t yet know that they were dead.

“No! ARGH!”

“Don’t—don’t do this!”

“Ash! It’s right behind me! Ash…?”

Ashley was covered in their blood. Her ears rang with their cries. All around here were the sick, pulpy sounds of teeth tearing flesh. Young flesh that clung tight to the muscle and bone and had to be torn off in excruciatingly long tugs. _Riiiiip. Riiiiip. Scrape. Snap. Squish._

She came up to a fork in the cave path. She had no idea which way to go. Her pursuers were gaining on her. Fairytale creatures. Monsters. _The_ _monsters_ _go_ _after_ _very_ _bad_ _boys_ _and_ _girls_ _who_ _stay_ _up_ _past_ _their_ _bedtime_ _and_ _carry_ _them_ _away_!

On an impulse, she made a right. She’d gotten about three yards when she saw the madman, masked and carrying a saw. She backed up in terror. Suddenly, a soft, manicured hand adorned with rings grabbed hold of her own.

“Ash, come on! This way!”

She turned. Holding her hand was none other than Emily, warm and breathing and completely, completely alive.

“Emily…? But you’re—”

“Did I stutter, Raggedy Ann? We have to run. Let’s _go!”_

They ran together through the caverns, Emily brave and confident, Ashley meek and anxious. The sounds of carnage faded behind them. Snow was seeping through the cracks in the roof of the tunnels. They were close to the surface. She could relax with the knowledge that the stronger girl would keep her safe.

“Emily, please, what on earth is going—”

Emily screamed.

“Emily?! Em, what’s wrong?!”

Em let go of her hand and collapsed onto the ground, convulsing. She brought herself to a kneeling position and covered her face with her hands, moaning in agony. Instinctively, Ashley reached out to help her.

Then she noticed the bite wound on Emily’s shoulder.

“Oh no,” she whined, “Oh no no no no no…”

Emily lowered her hands and turned to face her. Her eyes were occluded as if blighted with cataracts. Her mouth was stretched into a twisted grimace and blade-like teeth were erupting from her warped jaw. Ash tried to run, but Emily struck her to the ground and pinned her to the cave floor. Trapped on her side, Ashley could see Chris’s head lying to her right. No sound came from her mouth when she tried to scream.

“It’s all your fault,” Emily growled, “You did this.”

Emily was right.

Ashley squirmed underneath her hold and let out another silent scream as her former friend’s humanity faded entirely she and sank her teeth into Ashley’s throat.

She still could not scream even after she awakened. Paralyzed with fear, she lay awake in her bed and stared at the ceiling. It was still dark, probably some ungodly hour of the morning. She could still hear the monsters, even now. Scratching the walls, screaming battle cries, eating. Always eating.

Desperately, she searched the halls of her memory for something pleasant to distract her from her fears. She settled on a girls night turned sleepover back in eleventh grade. The girls had colonized the couch and the armchairs of Hannah and Beth’s spacious sitting room, all the girls awkwardly piling atop one another for warmth. Ash had rested her head on a slumbering Emily’s stomach while Jess had run a delicate hand through her hair, giggling softly and cooing _oh Ash, you have such pretty hair!_ Sam and Beth had colonized a nearby armchair, sleeping in a tight lovers’ embrace. Hannah had somehow been comfortable draping herself over their entangled legs. The whole scene had looked like the fallout of a very bizarre game of Twister that had for some reason involved furniture.

Ashley smiled at the memory, the smell of her friends and the sound of their peaceful breathing in the dark. Now Jess had locked herself away and Emily would hardly even look at her, and Sam—well, Sam knew how to smile and repress and compartmentalize better than any of the others could, but that definitely didn’t make her anything close to okay.

Sam had told her she would get better. But of course she had. She had to comfort and reassure her because that’s what Sam did. That’s what her burdensome friends made her do. Sam played mama bird and acted like nothing ever bothered her, but Ashley could see the exhaustion and resentment behind her motherly smiles. She’d drain herself dry pouring herself out for three broken girls if they didn’t find some sort of way to take care of themselves. Starting with Ash.

Ashley crawled out of bed and made her way toward her desk. She cleaned the clutter off its dusty surface, leaving nothing but her trusty notebook and a pen. She sat down and flipped through the journal, glancing over pages of stories never finished, dreams sleepily transcribed, character sketches, and brief accounts of happier days. She stopped at a sketch of her friends all together and smiling, the photo she’d used as a model taped to the adjacent page. She swallowed and kept going.

More and more pages of writing—ink drawings, diary entries, poetry, fanfiction; honestly, she could learn a thing or two about organization from the hermit on the mountain. Finally, she came upon a blank page near the back. She tested her pen on the page and smiled, satisfied, at the straight black line it left. She couldn’t kill the monsters that haunted her dreams, but she could trap them. Exorcise the demons from her brain and bind them with ink and paper.

She invoked the image of the monsters, the maniac, the mountain, with ease. Every trauma flashed before her eyes with crystal clear precision. No detail would escape her.

Her pen held firmly in her hand, Ashley began to write.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Originally this chapter was going to be gayer, but, alas, I was not able to fit in as much gay as I'd hoped. Oh well. Next time, perhaps.  
> It goes without saying that my grasp on L.A. geography is a little tenuous. I don't live in the area, so a lot of the landmarks and distance in this work are the product of guesswork and Google Maps.  
> Feedback is always appreciated!  
> (Also please let me know if you catch any grammar/spelling errors. I try to be a good editor of my own work but school's getting pretty intense and I just didn't have the time to edit this draft as thoroughly as I'd like to have been able to. Thanks again!)


	3. Marigold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody wants to be the villain of the story.

It was the first time since the mountain that Ashley was out after dark. It wasn’t so bad, bathed in the lights of the city and surround by noise into which she could safely bury herself, but still, it was, she hoped, a step in the right direction. She walked at a brisk pace down the sidewalk, winding in and out of crowds of pedestrians and nearly tripping over someone’s dog. She was late, but that was nothing new with her. Punctuality was never Ashley’s strong suit.

(It hadn’t been Matt’s either. They’d joked about that a lot, back then.)

Her outings with Sam had become a weekly ritual. They met every Saturday, went to coffee shops, bookstores, museums; anywhere well-lit and relatively crowded. Sam’s pep talks and Ashley’s one-word responses had gradually given way to genuine conversation. Sam would rant about deforestation or reminisce about her old rock-climbing days and Ash would recommend books she’d read or share stories about her childhood in Salem (Sam had heard them all, but if Ash repeating herself ever bothered her, she never showed it). At one point, feeling uncharacteristically brave, Ashley had seized Sam’s hand while the two sat together on a park bench. Ash’s hand was clammy and only barely touched the back of Sam’s hand before she retracted, but Sam had looked at her with the kind green eyes she’d grown to trust so much, and she’d held out her hand for Ash to take again.

When Sam had proposed meeting for dinner, Ashley had done her best to conceal the swarm of anxious insects flitting about in her stomach. She’d spent the better part of an hour trying to figure out what to wear, feeling very Emily-ish as she poured over tops and skirts and her massive collection of hats. She eventually settled on something right on the corner of casual and fancy and set out, thinking all the while as she found her way to the restaurant _is this okay? Am I moving on too fast? Does this make me a bad person, liking her?_

There were far darker things that she’d already done, she supposed. She was already a terrible, irredeemable person by now. Might as well take what she wanted. Sam would say otherwise (wouldn’t she?), but Sam didn’t have to live with Ashley’s tainted, murderous soul dwelling inside her, contaminating her insides with Chris’s blood, Josh’s blood, Hannah’s blood, Beth’s blood.

(But Sam had left Mike in the lodge, hadn’t she? Wasn’t she a murderer too? Hardly made them even, but still.)

The restaurant was an unpretentious Thai place hidden away among much swankier joints. Ash wondered how such a hole-in-the-wall affair had managed to stay open as long as it had, but according to Sam, the food itself more than made up for the modesty of the décor. A round-faced woman with greying hair motioned her toward a booth by the windows. Ash felt overdressed looking at Sam, who was dressed no different than normal; yoga pants, dusty tennis shoes and the oversized red-and-black flannel she’d gotten for her seventeenth birthday and loved to pieces. Sam’s eyes lit up as Ashley approached.

“Ash! Hey!” she chirped, “I already ordered an appetizer for us to share—I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure when you were gonna get here.”

“It’s alright,” Ashley said as she slid onto the bench across from her. A siren blared outside. Someone was hurt or scared or dying. Ashley tired to focus her attention on the menu. The amount of options overwhelmed her. There were twenty items listed under “Chicken” alone.

“This is a lot,” she muttered.

“Try the massaman curry,” Sam told her, “It’s my mom’s favorite.”

Ashley smirked a little.

“You’re saying I have the culinary tastes of a middle-aged woman?”

“I’m saying you have the culinary tastes of my mom, which should be taken as the highest form of praise,” Sam retorted.

They transitioned effortlessly into the playful banter that had once come easily to everyone in the group when they were around each other. Ashley almost felt normal, nattering on about the mischief of her cat Prospero and munching on the appetizer on the table between them. Though she hadn’t dressed up at all for the occasion, Sam looked even nicer than normal. The soft amber light of the lamps overhead gave her hair a golden glow and brought out the warmth in eyes that had far too often looked frighteningly flat and dead. Ash had fallen for her savior; she’d walked right out of one cliché movie and into another. Ashley Cohen, the girl next door, forever caught in tropes.

“So,” Sam said in the middle of their main course, “I was thinking, Jess’s birthday is coming up…”

Ashley swallowed. She hadn’t seen Jess since Chris’s funeral.

“It wouldn’t be anything huge,” Sam reassured her, “We’d just, you know, leave her some flowers, bake her something—you know, something nice and simple.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“We all have to stick together,” Sam said. “It’s the best way we can heal.”

“I think Emily would disagree with you,” Ash replied, with more bitterness than she intended.

“I think Emily is hurt and knows how to hold a grudge,” Sam said, “But I also think she doesn’t want to be alone.”

“Yeah, well don’t come crying to me when you reach out to her and pull back a bloody stump.”

“Ash, come on.”

Ashley sighed. The four of them coming back together seemed impossible. But she also hadn’t forgotten Jessica’s kind words to her while dress shopping for Prom ( _“You’re so damn pretty, Ash. Why don’t you get that?”_ ); or Emily throwing righteous and fiendishly creative invectives at the guys giving her unwanted attention at a party to drive them off.

“Things won’t ever be the way they were.”

“No, they won’t,” Sam conceded, “But that sure as hell doesn’t mean we can’t heal. And I’d like to do it together.”

Ashley met her eyes.

“You’re incredible,” she said. “Everything we’ve been through and you’re still so…”

“Nagging?” Sam guessed.

“Compassionate.”

“Oh, I mean, I’m not really that—” Sam started, but she didn’t have time to finish before Ash caught her lips in a kiss. It was an awkward, sloppy affair—Ash had to practically bend over the table to reach her—but it filled her up with warmth all the same. After a moment of shock, Sam reached a hand into the curtain of Ashley’s hair. Her hand jostled Ash’s beanie a little and involuntarily, Ashley began to think of Beth. Beth, whose hat collection had been compared to hers on their first meeting, who had protected her from bullies and pulled AP Lit all-nighters with her, bemoaning the grim task of analyzing _The Scarlet Letter_ over steaming mugs of black coffee.

Whose older sister she had humiliated. Whose life she had ended. Whose family she had destroyed.

And now she was seducing her girlfriend.

A terrible shame welled up inside her and she jerked away from Sam, burying her face in her hands.

“Ash…?”

“I’m so sorry…I’m so, so sorry…”

She pulled out a pair of twenty-dollar bills and slapped them on the table to cover the meal, and then she ducked out of the booth and ran out the door.

\------------

Jess hadn’t wanted to leave her house, so Emily had come to her. It was weird, having her back in a place where they had once spent so much time together. Jessica kept flashing back to the pair of them sprawled on her couch, commenting on the models in their magazines and gossiping about the dirty deeds of Em’s fellow debate team members as she walked up to the door where Emily stood waiting on the other side.

Jessica moved the door ( _slowly, easily_ ) until it was all the way open. Emily looked apprehensive. She stood there for a moment, not saying a word.

“You wanna come in?” Jess asked after the silence got awkward.

“I—yeah,” Emily said, her usual iciness strangely absent. She stepped into the foyer, looking around the house like it was foreign to her.

“You want me to get you something?”

“No,” Emily said, then thought better of it and asked, “Got any booze?”

“Not anymore,” Jess sighed. “My dads flushed it all. Probably thought I’d be tempted to cope.”

“Goddamn,” Emily muttered, “Now I gotta do this shit sober.”

“Do what?” Jess asked, “Murder me?”

“Worse,” Emily told her.

“Oh?”

Emily looked her full in the face.

“I want us to talk out our shit,” she said. “All of it. We don’t have to, like, be best friends or whatever after, I just want to get it all out, you know?”

Jess felt her stomach contort into an origami crane.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah,” Emily said, “Fun times, right?”

“I think maybe we should sit down.”

The two sat down at Jess’s dining room table. Jess stared down at the reflective black surface. Her scars glared up at her. Emily cleared her throat.

“Okay,” She said, “Okay. So. Mike left me for you. And it was his choice. You didn’t make him do it. But that still hurt. And—and maybe I overreacted a little.”

“A little?”

“Okay, maybe I overreacted a lot,” Emily conceded, “But anyway, that’s my side of things.”

Jess took a gulp of air. Even thinking about Mike hurt like nothing else. She wasn’t sure she could survive talking about him.

“I just—I loved him. He was always so good to me. And I always wanted to be there for you, really, but seeing you with him all the time—shit, I just didn’t want you putting me in the same book as you put Hannah.”

At the mention of that name, Emily bristled. After a moment of silence she spoke again.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just—Christ, Jess, you were my best friend. The one person I wanted to talk to after Mike left me was you. And then when I found out you were…” She trailed off. “It’s just…Mike made me feel so important and wanted and, like, valuable. Losing him and you at the same time, I felt like nothing.” Emily averted her eyes.

“Em—”

At the faintest hint of pity, Emily’s eyes went cold and mean. Jessica realized her mistake as soon as the name, said in a simpering, sympathetic tone, left her tongue.

“Don’t bother,” Emily cut her off. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I just want you to get why I was pissed. That’s all.”

Jessica stared at Emily's hands. They looked soft. She thought about the countless sleepovers the two had once had, of the few times she'd sleepily wrapped Em's hand in her own, too tired to think about what it meant. Jess fought the impulse to reach out and take her former friend's hand. It would probably just end in her getting slapped.

“Are you still pissed?” Jess asked.

“Well, yeah. But you're pretty low on my shit list right now, so...” Emily muttered. Jessica blinked.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Oh, did sweet, saintly Sam forget to tell you?” Emily’s voice was suddenly hard. “Figures. Mike tried to kill me. Ashley almost let him.”

It felt as though a bag of rocks had slammed into her heart.

“I—w-what?”

“The bite. He thought I was gonna turn into one of those things. That’s what he said. But he had no fucking evidence at all. He just pulled a fucking gun on me and he would’ve painted the basement with my fucking brains if—”

“Stop it.”

“Why should I? You have a right to know the kind of guy you were sleeping with—speaking of which,” Emily’s voice was trembling, her eyes wild, “Did you know he fucked me behind your back?”

“No,” Jessica mumbled, “No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He cared. He ran for me. He came for me. Saved me. He wouldn’t—wouldn’t—”

Jess was babbling. Her mind was on the mountain again, surrounded by chaos and ice and broken glass and _oh God it hurts it hurts so much_ and Mike’s voice, her only salvation, calling out to her in the darkness.

Only it was Emily, not Mike, who was calling for her now.

“Jess? Hey, Jess? I—shit, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—fuck…damn it...I really wanted to make things—oh God, I’m so sorry…”

By the time Jess snapped out of it, Emily was gone. The chair across from her had been knocked over, and her front door was still open a tiny bit. Tears sprung up in Jessica’s eyes. It was too much, too much to know, to process. She just wanted to get away from everything but she was trapped, so trapped, in a broken body and a reality full of liars and monsters and blood.

Jess rested her head on the surface of the table and wailed. Without warning, her door creaked open. Her heart thundered in her chest. She’d left the door open like a goddamn idiot and now they were coming to get her. Jessica rose from her chair without thinking to grab her cane, putting weight on her bum foot and sending a bolt of pain through her ruined leg. She toppled over, hitting her head on the back wall and landing in a pathetic heap on the floor.

“Don’t hurt me,” she whimpered at the sound of approaching footsteps, “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

“Jessica?”

“Ash?”

Jess sat up as well as she could. Ashley, looking miserable and mildly disheveled, was standing slightly inside her foyer, one hand still on the door. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

“I heard screaming, and when I saw the door was ajar, I kinda freaked out a little,” Ash said apologetically. She crossed the hall to the dining room as Jess got shakily to her feet, balancing herself on the edge of the table. Ashley approached her and gently put her hands on Jess’s shoulders.

“Goodness, Jess,” Ashley breathed, “What in God’s name happened to you?”

\------------

“Ashley?” Sam called as she scoured the busy streets for her friend. Well now, didn’t this feel familiar.

_“Hannah?”_

Sam wasn’t sure how she’d gotten the moniker of “the considerate friend” seeing as she was always losing the people who depended on her. And not too cleanly either.

Ash on her own, distressed and frightened, was dangerous. There was no telling what she might do. Sam swallowed her fear and looked frantically around for any trace of her. She tried to think of where she might go in Ashley’s shoes. The bookstore was closed, as was the library. There was a chance she’d go to one of the nearby coffee shops, but she’d made a habit of avoiding those. She and Chris had first gotten to know each other in a coffee shop.

Would Ashley go to one of the bars? Em and Jess had fake ID’s, but what about Ash? Sam’s stomach whirred with anxiety. No telling what any of the girls would do with access to alcohol.

Her phone buzzed. Sam flashed her eyes to the screen. The text from Ash was simple and laconic:

 

**I’m okay**

**Took the bus back home**

**Sorry**

Sam swiped the unlock screen and tried to think of a reply, but nothing came to her.

She’d only kissed two girls before Ash: Beth, of course, and a very drunk Jessica during a party Sam still rather regretted having attended. The whole thing had been a clusterfuck. Mike and Em had spent the evening screaming at each other, Matt had been literally holding a guy back from creeping on Ashley, Beth had spotted the drunken kiss between Sam and Jess and was spending the evening avoiding them both, and Chris and Josh had been obnoxiously cheering all the chaos on. Only when Hannah had touched her arm and led her outside for some air had Sam had any peace and quiet. Hannah had given her a soft smile and had rested her head on Sam’s shoulders while the two took in the balmy summer night. The fronds on the palms had swayed in a mild breeze and the two of them had sat in companionable silence, as all hell had broken loose inside Josh’s house.

Hannah and Beth. Beth and Hannah. Even more than Josh, the Washington sisters had been her oldest and dearest friends. Hannah had been her first mate, her faithful companion during their romps through the playground on recess, taming imaginary dragons and running until they were bent double trying to catch their breath. Hannah had stood up for her when the other kids had mocked Sam for her love of even the strangest creatures. Hannah had gone with her to Prom when Beth had been away on an orchestra tour and unable to attend, had made what would have been a lonely night without Beth a total blast. Beth had been her tough, no-nonsense confidant, her protector, her favorite hiking buddy. Beth had taken her onto the roof of their high school one quiet March night and, after an hour or two of taking in the skyline, had nervously kissed her for the first time. Beth had held her while the two reclined in the Washington Lodge’s massive bath. Just the two of them, skin on skin, hidden away in the mountains where few would think to look for them.

What would Beth think of her now, lusting after a girl who had laughed as her sister was humiliated? What would _Hannah_ think?

It was bad enough, her thinking about Ashley this way. Even worse, even more offensive to the Washingtons’ ghosts, that the prank’s two main organizers also caught her eye. Of course, she’d always thought of them as pretty. She had eyes, after all. But something about surviving everything together, about seeing them so damaged and alone, awakened something else alongside her usual protective instinct. She wanted to hold them while they fell asleep, to take their hands and lead them back to reality when they were lost in their tortured pasts, to laugh with them in the few moments of happiness they could still afford to have and to kiss them when they cried.

It would have been a bad enough betrayal if she just wanted them. But she loved them, and somehow that made it even worse.

Maybe that’s why Josh singled her out for punishment back at the lodge. Somehow, he’d known, just by looking at her, the kind of betrayal she was capable of committing. The supposedly loyal friend who had failed to stop her best friend’s pain from happening, who had neglected to follow the twins into the storm. Who even after all that time not only still associated with the perpetrators, but loved them? Sam was as despicable as the rest of her friends, just too self-righteous and proud to see it at the time.

A stranger shoved past her, jarring her back to the present. She realized she’d been wandering aimlessly for blocks now. To her left were a number of bars, none of them looking particularly reputable. Inebriated men and women stumbled in and out, and loud, scratchy voices rang out from the windows and doors, mixing with the booming music. Sam picked up the pace a little. The clubs and bars gave way to liquor stores and gas stations. This was the kind of place where bad things happened to people whose lives were probably already shit. She was about to turn around and hightail it out of there when she saw a familiar-looking Lexus parked in front of one of the liquor stores. Unthinkingly, she bolted in the direction of the store and threw open the door. The man at the counter looked up at her with bleary eyes.

“Jesus fuck,” he drawled, “Another one of you?”

“I’m looking for my friend.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be in here, kid?” the man asked. He squinted. “Unless you got—”

“Not interested,” Sam interrupted, then, “Uh, sir. Not interested, sir. I think my friend was in here. I’m looking for her. Any idea where she went?”

The man at the counter snorted.

“Asian bitch, right? Young, all uppity-like? Yeah, she was in here. Got a lotta booze for a lotta cash. Can’t say I’m complaining.”

Sam fought the urge to throw something at him.

“Any idea where she went?”

“The bars, probably,” he told her, “Probably aiming to get as plastered in one night as possible. Left her car here, stupid bitch. That thing’s gonna get jacked.”

Sam turned and barreled out of the store without another word.

“You’re welcome,” the man called after her as the door swung shut.

\------------

Emily’s head was a confused maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.

_Stupid bitch. Stupid, selfish, callous bitch._

She’d had the perfect chance to make things right with Jessica and she’d fucked it up in a fit of prideful rage. Just because she was too arrogant to take a little pity. And she’s ripped Jess apart with her words. Jessica, who had always been able to parry Emily’s insults with harsh words of her own, had done nothing but cower under Emily’s fire. She’d defiled the memory of the man who’d fought alongside Sam to save everyone and tormented the woman who needed comfort more than any of them, all in one evening.

She couldn’t go home, not to the place where her mother would take one look at her and know all the terrible things she had done. Not to where she could see her stepdad, the idle rich bastard drowsing in front of the television, and see what would surely be her future; drowning in money and wasted potential. Besides, her mother, like Jess’s parents, had gotten rid of all her means of drowning her sorrows. There was no booze at home. Just too much quiet to bear.

Emily took another swig. The vodka burned through every cell in her body and made her head swim with frightful notions. People like her didn’t deserve to survive. All she ever did was hurt. The perfect, untouchable honor student had become this hideous, disheveled creature that spouted poison at everything she’d once loved.

Emily pulled her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. Her fingers fumbled as she sent out a desperate message to the one person she ever felt like talking to anymore.

 

**matt**

**im so drjunk rihgt now but i wnat you toknow**

**i love yuo so much i lvoe you**

**im sorry im sososossososoossososo s orry**

**it shouldve been me**

**i am th worst**

**i deserve to die**

**ERROR 6295: This number has been disconnected or is no longer in service.**

 

He was gone. She'd never, ever see him again. And she’d spent her last moments with him screaming at him as he’d tried to save her. How had he died? Was he in pain? Afraid? Alone? She strongly suspected all three. He’d died terrified and she had lived.

Emily cast her gaze over to the busy street beside her. Giving up would be easy. Better for everyone. She wasn’t doing anyone any favors by being here. She took one last swig and felt the bottle slip out of her hand and break in two on the ground. Everything she’d done in her life, all the hours of studying, working out, debating, preening, making herself into someone desirable and untouchable, all led up to this. The _thing_ she was now. Pathetic.

She saw a truck approaching. Closing her eyes, she stumbled out into the street and braced for impact.

Just then, Emily felt a pair of arms wrap around her chest and wrench her backward. The city lights swam in her already muddled vision. A wave of nausea took her over and her head throbbed. Clumsily, she fought against the tug of her captor, her stumbling, uncoordinated feet attempting to drag herself back into the street. Emily half-turned her head to catch the blonde mop of Sam’s hair out of the corner of her eye.

“Emily—”

“Get off me!" Emily shrieked, "Let me go! LET ME GO!”

Sam’s grip around her waist tightened and she dragged her friend forcefully back from the curb. For a few more moments Emily thrashed and screamed in her friend’s ironclad grip.

“Em—”

“No!”

“Emily.” Sam’s voice was hard. “This is not the answer. This is _never_ the answer.”

Emily struggled listlessly in her arms a little longer, but her heart wasn’t in it anymore. All the fight had drained out of her. Her knees buckled. Sam’s steady hold on her was the only thing keeping Emily from faceplanting on the sidewalk. Her vision blurred. Emily squeezed her eyes shut. She felt like a dead weight, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

_Can’t even move without someone carrying you. All you do is weigh people down. You burn them out and leave them spent and move onto the next poor fool who feels sorry enough for you to want to put up with you. Parasite._

Ashley was onto something when she’d been freaking out about the bite, Emily mused. There was something monstrous about her. The bite had nothing to do with it of course. She’d always been a monster.

Something about this struck her as being absolutely hilarious. Hanging limp in Sam’s arms, Emily began to laugh. Her diaphragm burned with the effort as she heaved with mirthless giggles. Though she no longer had the strength to move her head, Emily imagined that people were probably staring at them. Well, she’d always been an attention whore, hadn’t she? More attention, more stares. Just what she’d always craved.

God, what a display. Her father was dead. Matt was dead. Beth, Hannah, Mike, Josh and Chris were dead. And here she was, spending the life they’d deserved—the life she’d stolen from them—laughing her drunken ass off on the side of the street. When her mother had told her that she’d grow up to be something special, Emily doubted this was what she had in mind.

Without any real warning, her laughter turned into sobs. They were deeper and more painful than any other time she’d cried. Every groaning, heaving sob sliced into her, down into her soul, and cut deep into it. Tears cascaded from her eyes down onto the concrete. Sam wheeled her around and pulled her into a warm hug. Emily buried her face into Sam’s shoulder and breathed in the smell of her sweat. So similar to Matt, she thought. The smell of a life lived actively and with heart.

“I want them back,” she whimpered between sobs, “I just, I just, I want them back…!”

“I know, I know,” Sam sighed. Her grip around Emily tightened slightly. “We just…we have to keep going. We can’t give up. We have to keep fighting. For them. To prove they didn’t die for nothing.”

She planted a kiss on the top of Emily’s head.

“You are not a monster,” she breathed, as if the kiss had given her access to Emily’s thoughts, “And you’re not a burden. You’re just Emily.”

Emily chuckled hollowly.

“That’s bad enough, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Sam replied without missing a beat. She kissed Emily’s cheek, paying no mind to the tears that caught on her lips. “I love you. I love all of you guys. More than I think you’ll ever know.”

“I don’t deserve it—”

“Oh, don’t even try that one,” Sam cut her off. She ran a hand over Emily’s hair. “I’m gonna take you back to my place, alright? Get you cleaned up. Sober you up a little. Is that okay?”

Emily made a little affirmative noise into Sam’s shoulder.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here, Em.”

She kept her eyes on her feet as Sam led her down the sidewalk. Blackness crept on the edges of her vision.

“…should take your car, just because it’s in kind of a bad place and I don’t want it getting stolen,” Sam was saying, “That okay?”

“Mm.”

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Em. I promise.”

“…Fucked ev’rything up…” Emily mumbled.

“You screwed up. Whatever. None of us are strangers to that,” Sam said. “We can fix it.”

“…Can’t…”

“Yeah, we can. I promise.” Sam stopped at Emily’s car and motioned for Emily’s bag. She handed it over. Sam pulled out the keys and handed her back her purse.

“Alright, in ya go.”

Emily slid into the back seat and leaned her head against the cold surface of the window.

“Seatbelt,” Sam called back to her. Emily groaned and put it on. She heard the faint purr of the engine starting. “We’ll be okay, Em,” Sam said as the car took to the road, “Things are just messy right now. If they weren’t, I’d worry we were still trapped in a fucked up movie.”

The lights of passing buildings blurred and molded into one continuous, multicolor stream. Emily’s eyes fluttered shut. Her head still pounding, she drifted off to the smooth sound of the engine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! I...don't really know what to say. This chapter was kind of a pain to write, so I hope you found it satisfactory!  
> Again, this was kind of a rush job, so sorry if it's shoddy. Hopefully it's not too poorly done.  
> Feedback is always appreciated!  
> (Also, once again, I didn't have time to proofread this, so please let me know if you spot any spelling/grammatical mistakes and I'll get right on them. I'm sorry for the unprofessionalism!)


	4. Snowdrop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes. Things start to get better.

The sound of someone's phone ringing dragged her out of sleep. Emily groaned and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. The hangover she had at that moment might've been the new champion of all the hangovers she'd ever had. Memories of the night before came slowly and murkily. All she knew was that she'd hurt people and hurt herself, and now she was lying in Sam's bed, drenched with sweat and reeling from a wicked headache.

All in all, not too out-of-character for her.

She reached over to Sam's bedside table and picked up the ringing phone. Hers. Sam's name shadowed the dull chrome lock screen. Emily took in a gulp of air and hit "accept."

"Well!" Sam's voice, chipper as ever, rang out, "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Or should I say, 'good afternoon'?"

"Argh, Sam. Hangover. Keep your fucking voice down."

"Ah, right," Sam replied in a much quieter voice, "Sorry."

Emily squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember the night before. Not much came up other than bright neon lights and a dull, thudding regret.

"Wait. Sam. What, uh, what happened to me last night?"

"Well," Sam said, a little cautiously, "I think you kinda hit rock bottom."

"How so...?"

"I, well, um," Sam mumbled, "I don't really know how to put this..."

"Sam, just say it."

"You tried to kill yourself."

Emily swallowed. Memories of Sam's arms wrapped around her, her firm voice in her ear, of rushing cars and overpowering despair and the desperate need to just make it all  _stop._

"Well," she said after a minute, "Evidently I didn't succeed."

"No. Unless you're a spooky phone ghost."

"I guess that's always a possibility."

"Em," Sam said, her voice returning to seriousness, "I know this is, like, the last thing you want to hear right now, but I don't think you're coping well. At all. None of us are. We can't keep trying to do this on our own. It's not working. We have to come together—"

"Right, of course! How could I possibly not want to spend every last second of my life playing 'bleeding hearts' with my favorite girlfriends? Silly me! I'll just go and ring them up right now for a play date."

"Em."

"What."

"Come on," Sam sighed, "Just give it a try. I'm not asking you to forgive anybody. I'm just saying...I—When Josh lost his sisters, he tried to go it alone. He'd talk to me sometimes, sure, but—" Sam broke off. Emily counted three shaky breaths, in and out, before Sam started up again. "I can't lose you guys. You're all I've got left. So please, Em, please just try. If we can just meet up somewhere and just...talk things out—and if that's as far as it goes, then fine. I'm not asking for us to be best friends or anything. I just don't want..."

"One of us to pull a Josh?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"No, no, I get it," Emily told her. "It's just—ugh, fine. I'll give it a go. What do you, uh, propose?"

"Well," Sam said carefully, "You know what day it is this Tuesday?"

"Jess's birthday," Emily said automatically.

"Yeah! Now, I don't know about you, but that's a day I'd never want to spend alone."

(Emily tried to suppress the influx of memories of the birthdays she did spend alone. Sam was right. Not a fun time.)

"Yeah. And?"

"And," Sam said, "I was thinking we could plan a nice little something for her. Get her some flowers and kick back at her place watching movies or something."

"Uh, look, Sam," Emily mumbled, "That's, uh, that's sweet and all, but I think I'm probably the last person Jess wants to see right now."

"So Ash and I will keep her distracted and you can just be there and hang out on your phone or whatever. You don't have to talk to anybody if you don't want to. I'm just asking you to be there. Okay?"

Emily let out a long-suffering sigh.

"...Okay," she said at last, "Just, if she bitches me out or goes all apoplectic or whatever, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Of course."

Emily looked around Sam's room. It looked disturbingly clean. Normally there were books, sweaty clothes and boxes full of souvenirs gathered from all over the world strewn about the place, but now everything was exactly in its place, all the surfaces dusted, all the books put away. Sam had evidently spent a lot of time looking for things to do.

"Where are you anyway?" Emily asked, rubbing her forehead with her free hand, "Why'd you just leave me in your house? That's weird."

"Trust me, waking you up this morning was not happening," Sam laughed. "I went out to talk to my academic advisor about getting back on track next semester. I'll be back home after I grab some lunch. Want anything, by the way?"

Christ. College. Add that to the top of the list of things Emily didn't want to have to think about ever.

"I dunno. I'm fine. I'm not hungry. Don't worry about it."

"If you say so," Sam replied, not sounding terribly convinced. "I'll probably be back in a half hour. 'Kay?"

"Sure."

"Cool. See you then. Take it easy, okay? You had one hell of a night last night."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"See you, Em."

"Yeah. Bye."

Emily spent the next thirty minutes wandering around Sam's empty house like a zombie, flipping listlessly through her books and avoiding the oppressively bright sunlight coming through the windows. Sam's home had always been the group's Switzerland. Whenever there was a fight or a breakup or a violation of Fight Club Code ( _things the group is never to talk about without express permission of the subject the thing directly concerns includes but is not limited to: Josh's frequent absences, Matt's older brother, Emily's childhood, and Ashley's dad_ ) Sam's place was neutral ground, where no one would be allowed to fight and everyone could just chill and talk and watch movies without animosity (whether they liked it or not). It was also where everyone went for the monthly girls' night (discontinued after Hannah and Beth went miss—died. After Hannah and Beth died). In an adolescence full of drama, anxiety and craziness, Sam's home was an oasis of tranquility. Emily hoped that rule still applied.

She heard the garage door grumble open.

"Em? You up?" Sam called from the garage.

"Metaphorically."

"Good enough for me. Where are you?"

"Kitchen."

"Alright, cool. Be right there!"

Sam strode into the kitchen, looking sharp and professional. Her hair was brushed for once, and done up in a tasteful bun. A crisp red blazer wrapped snugly over a simple black blouse and grey slacks. She placed a brown paper bag on the counter and pulled out two wrapped bagels, shoving one into Emily's hand as she approached.

"Blueberry's your favorite, right?"

"Sam," Emily said, "Didn't I say—"

"Em, come on. You haven't eaten anything in—" Sam stole a look at the microwave clock—"at least sixteen hours, maybe more. A little lunch isn't gonna kill you."

Emily didn't reply, just stared at the wrapped-up food in her hand. Sam put her bagel down on the counter before walking back to Emily.

"Jesus, Em," she fretted, "You look terrible."

"I appreciate your flattery."

"No problem," Sam muttered. She put her hand on Emily's forehead. "No fever at least. How's your head?"

"It's fine..." Emily did her best to ignore the odd, fluttering feeling in her chest. When was the last time she'd allowed someone to touch her so tenderly?

Without thinking, she took hold of Sam's wrist with her free hand and brought her arm down from her forehead. She held Sam lightly in her grip and stared into her eyes, which where widened slightly.

"Em...?"

"You have to get tired."

"Um, of what?"

"Of taking care of us. Of always having to look out for everyone. Especially now. You have to be the, like, glue that holds everyone together and that's—that's just gotta be so...draining. I guess. And that's, like, not fair."

"I mean, it's not, like, a chore—"

"Sam."

"I mean, yeah, I get tired. But I'd never leave you guys. What would that make me?"

"Human."

"Maybe," Sam sighed, "But after everything with Hannah and Beth and Josh, and everyone else, I just...I don't want to lose anyone else. It hurts too much. So if I have to pour myself out for the people I have left, it's worth it."

"You goddamn motherfucking saint. How do you do it?"

"Hey now," Sam said, smiling a little, "I'm not such a pure little lamb."

"Oh? Prove it."

Emily brought Sam's hand to the former's chest. Sam hesitated.

"Wait. Em. Are you sure?"

"Sure that I don't want to be alone anymore. That's about all I'm sure about, honestly." She laughed nervously. Sam shook her head and chuckled.

"I can't believe you."

"Most people can't."

They wrapped their arms around each other. Sam's lips met hers, easy as anything.

For the first time in nearly two years, the constant, anxious static in Emily's brain quieted a little.

\------------

"Absolutely not. No. A million years worth of no."

"Ash—"

"No! I am not going anywhere near that viper woman for as long as I live."

"It's for an hour, tops," Sam told her, "Besides, this is about Jess. It'll work best if we're all there."

Ashley brought her copy of _The Elements of Style_ closer to her chest and glared at her bedroom floor. Sam was the only one of the survivors she'd spent any real amount of time talking to, and in spite of yesterday's fiasco ( _I'm sorry Beth. I'm sorry Sam. I'm sorry Hannah. I'm sorry Josh. I'm sorry everyone_ ) she was the only one around whom Ashley felt even remotely comfortable. Jess was just so different, so fragile, and it pained Ashley beyond words to see what her friend, once so bright-eyed and confident, had become. And Emily—well, it wasn't like Ash had almost gotten her murdered execution-style by a man she'd loved, was it? Her anger was understandable, if a bit protracted. But Emily was nothing if not the queen of holding grudges, and Ashley would rather go to her high school reunion wearing nothing but a beanie than be anywhere close to her and her venom.

"Look, Emily's probably just gonna be hanging out in the corner of the room on her phone or whatever. Nobody's expecting you guys to make up right away."

Ashley snorted.

"'Right away'?"

"Or, you know, ever," Sam amended. "Just, will you please give this a chance? It would mean a lot to Jess. And to me."

Ashley let out a long, tired breath and bit her lip.

"I'll think about it," she said at last.

"Thanks, Ash," Sam said. She bent down and gave Prospero, who was curled up at the foot of Ashley's bed, a quick scratch behind the ears. Then she turned and walked toward the door. "Please text me once you make up your mind. No judgement either way. Really."

And with that, she was gone. Ashley leaned back until she was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her grip on the book loosened. Prospero stood, stretched, and walked up to the other end of the bed, flopping down with a  _fwumph_ beside Ash's head.

"What do you think I should do?" Ashley asked him. Prospero mewled. "Very sage," Ashley said with a chuckle. "I named you well."

Prospero was a small gray tabby with a wonky front left foot. It used to be just like his other feet until Ash's dad had gone ballistic around the time of the divorce and fucked up his paw. Ashley shuddered remembering his rage turning into grief when he saw her crying over her yowling cat, then to rage again when Ash's mom timidly tried to intervene.

_This is all your fucking fault, bitch! It's because you're taking her away from me!_

Ashley had once thought she'd never meet any monsters scarier than her own father.

She rolled over, buried her face in her pillows, and started to cry. All she ever did was cry. Prospero meowed and rubbed up against her side.

There was a quiet knock on her door.

"Ashley? Can I come in?"

Ash sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Uh, y-yeah, sure. Come in, mom."

Ashley's mother always looked tired. The dark circles under her eyes never went away, no matter how much sleep she got. Her hair was streaked with grey and typically tied back in a sloppy ponytail. She walked like she was half-asleep sometimes, and even her smile had a weary shadow to it. It was a look of exhaustion that Ashley had grown to match. They sat side by side on Ashley's bed, mother and daughter, bound by blood and bruises and harsh, angry shadows perpetually lurking in the corners of their minds.

"Back when I was with your father, when it was getting really bad," she began, "I, well, I was just glad that through it all I had you."

Ashley sniffed. Her mother placed a cautious hand on her back. Ashley didn't move.

"Everything I've ever done, I always told myself, I was doing it for you. To protect you and make you happy."

"I know."

"It's just...after what you and your friends went through...I hated myself because I couldn't protect you. And even now I feel like I can't. You just have this, I don't know, this dark cloud hanging over you. It scares me."

"Sorry."

"No, no," her mother said, "It's nothing to be sorry about. I just want you to be okay...or something close to it. I just don't know how to help you this time. And that kills me."

Her mother's voice broke. Ashley shivered, even though the room was warm.

"I'm getting better, mom. Really," she said, "I just...it's so much...and I don't feel like a lot of people get it."

"Do you want a new therapist?"

"No, she's fine," Ashley said. "I guess I just don't know how to make people understand. And I don't think I can. My friends, they understand, I guess, but..."

"But what?"

"I'm just so scared," Ashley whimpered, "I did things up there that really hurt people. Seeing them after all that...I don't know. It's scary."

"That makes a lot of sense," Ashley's mother told her, "But if they're they only ones who really get it, then, as much as it hurts, you might have to try to push past that fear and make things right with them. None of you should be alone in this. I don't know what you went through, not really, but I do know that if I didn't have you through everything with your father, I don't know if I would've made it."

Ashley hugged herself and leaned into her mother's side.

"Thanks, mom," she said at last.

They were lambs, the two of them, forced to wear the masks of lions in a field full of wolves. But at least they weren't alone.

\------------

"Alright, I've got another one," David said. Jess scoffed and rolled her eyes. "C'mon, sis, hear me out."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. Why didn't the melons get married?"

"They were two dude melons living in India or something? I dunno."

"Nope. Any more guesses?"

"David, I swear to God—"

"Because they cantaloupe!"

Jessica laughed, in spite of herself. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Oh my God, David," she groaned. "I'm gonna fucking kill you."

"Don't even try it," David told her. "I'll have you know Igraduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills—"

Jessica grabbed the nearest item at hand (a worn-out copy of  _The Silmarillion_ ) and hocked it at him. He caught it easily and smirked. Jess huffed and rolled over in her armchair so she was facing the opposite wall, where the door to the kitchen stood between a family portrait and a piece of generic abstract artwork done by a family friend.

"Alright, now that the entertainment portion of the morning is over," David said, "What does the birthday girl want for her luxurious birthday breakfast?"

"French toast," Jess said immediately. "With strawberries," she added after a moment of thought.

"French toast with strawberries it is," her brother proclaimed. He stood up from the couch and walked toward the kitchen door. "Want another blanket?" he asked as he opened the door.

"I'm good," Jess replied.

"Alright, sounds good. I'll let you know when breakfast is ready."

"Better be good," Jess teased, "Or you're gonna get it."

"Only the best, princess."

As he walked into the kitchen, Jess gingerly reached into the pocket of her pajama shorts and pulled out her phone. She scanned Sam's latest text:

**We'd probably come over @ 2 and stay for like an hour tops. That okay?**

Jess stared at the little grey speech bubble for a good three minutes before tapping out a reply:

**yeah thats fine**

She leaned back in her chair and pulled her blankets a little tighter around her. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and tried to think of nothing at all. The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread reached her nostrils.

"Haven't burned the house down yet. Good job," she called.

"Don't jinx it!" David shouted back. Jess giggled.

"Too late!"

"Aw, damn! I sure hope our dads won't miss their house too much!"

In the end, nothing burned down, although the toast got badly singed on one side and David's pride took a little heat. Jessica savored the taste of the sweet, unexpectedly ripe strawberries while her brother went on about the cute weapons maintenance technician whose number he'd almost gotten while on his last tour. She peered out the dining room window. A recent rainstorm had temporarily cleared out the smog, leaving the now clouldless sky as blue as a bouquet of forget-me-nots.

"Alright, Smurfette," David said over the dishes he was washing in the sink after they'd finished, "I gotta go into town for the day. I'll be back around five. What do you want for dinner?"

"Surprise me."

"Dangerous words." David stuck the plates in the dishwasher. "Dad Mark should be in sometime tonight, by the way. Not sure about Dad Charlie; I think his flight got delayed. He's probably gonna call to tell you happy birthday though."

"Okay."

"Alright. Need anything else?"

"Are they selling time turners anywhere?" Jess asked. "I'd like one of those."

"I'll let you know if I see one."

"Please do."

David smiled and tousled her hair and took off with a wink and a wave. Jessica walked back into the living room and plunked herself down in front of the television, unconsciously counting down the hours until Sam's arrival.

At about five past two, the doorbell rang.

"Happy birthday," Sam greeted her as soon as she'd opened the door. She had a bouquet of peonies in one hand and a blue paper bag in the other. As she shoved the flowers into Jessica's arms the latter peered behind her to see the two other, considerably less cheery women also on her doorstep.

"Gang's all here, huh?" she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Yep!" Sam chirped. "Mind if we come in for a bit? We brought presents."

"Oh, you didn't need to do that."

"Oh, come on! What's a birthday without presents?" Sam asked. Jess shrugged.

"Uh, come in, I guess," she said, and stood aside so the women could enter. They sat in Jess's living room, the peonies in a vase of fresh water and her presents stacked precariously on the coffee table. Jess curled up on the couch and said nothing. Ashley shifted in her chair. Emily glared at the wall. Only Sam looked even remotely comfortable.

"So," she said, "Which one do you want to open first?"

Jess reached instinctively for the blue bag she'd seen Sam carrying earlier. Inside was a card, an old camera and a small mesh bag of miniature bath bombs.

"Camera doesn't work so great," Sam conceded, "But, y'know, if you're ever feeling old fashioned..."

"This is really thoughtful," Jess said. The thought of people spending money on her used to excite her, but now it just twisted her gut with guilt. She reached for the next gift, obviously book-shaped and rather clumsily wrapped. "Ash, I'm guessing?"

Ash smiled sheepishly. Jess tore the paper open.

"A diary?"

"I mean, I keep one," Ashley admitted, "And I've, uh, I've found it's good, for like, getting your thoughts out. I guess."

"I've never kept a diary before," Jess told her. "Guess it might be worthwhile to start, huh?"

"Yeah, I mean, if you want to."

Jessica smiled. Ashley's eyes met hers and they silently acknowledged the conversation they'd had a few days ago, after the fight with Emily. They hadn't said much to one another that night, but Ash had sat beside her while she'd cried and had stayed until Jess nodded off. They'd never been especially close, the two of them, but it was nice to have an ally, if an unexpected one.

"Thanks, Ash."

"No problem."

"So that leaves..." Sam began, and trailed off. Emily shifted uncomfortably. Jessica reluctantly grabbed the last gift, a nondescript black box. She opened it and let out a small gasp as she pulled out a stylish black handbag that she recognized immediately as a Victoria Beckham. It looked brand new, as though Emily had snatched it right off the runway and thrown it in a box.

"Jesus Christ, Em," she breathed. "This must have cost you hundreds."

"Couple thousand, actually." Emily sounded half boastful, half embarrassed. Jess couldn't take her eyes off the bag.

"I love it. Thanks." She was too awed to mask her gratitude with disdain. Emily mumbled something in response that might have been "you're welcome," but, given that it was Emily talking, probably wasn't.

The sat in silence for a while before Sam stood and stretched.

"Hey Jess, you got any tea? My throat's feeling kinda sore."

Jess nodded.

"In the kitchen. Third cabinet from the fridge," she said.

"Cool," Sam said. "You guys want anything?"

"Got pomegranate?" Emily asked.

"Think so," Jess replied.

"Cool," Sam said. "You want anything, Jess?"

"No thanks."

Ashley lurched up from her chair so fast she nearly fell over.

"You know what?" she said, "I think I'm gonna go with Sam. To, uh, see the selections. For myself. Yeah." She trailed Sam out of the room and closed the door a little sharply behind her.

Neither Jess nor Emily said anything at first.

"...Em."

"Yeah?" Emily sounded guarded, but not thorny. A good sign. Hopefully.

"Uh, I just, uh..." Jess started, then chickened out. "Thanks for the gift. Or whatever."

"Yeah, well, I guess it's...uh...it's my way of saying sorry."

Emily had a lot of things to be sorry for. They both did.

"I'm not gonna forgive you—"

"I know."

"No. Em. Let me finish." Jessica swallowed. Her throat felt very, very dry. "I'm not gonna forgive you right away. I will. Just not yet. It's a lot to work through."

Emily lowered her head.

"But! But! I wanna...I wanna be friends again. So, like, even though we've done a lot of dumb shit and even though we've hurt each other a lot...I guess...can we just not hate each other anymore? I miss you."

A beat of silence followed. Jess heard the clattering of pots and pans in the other room.

"...I miss you too." Emily's voice cracked as she spoke. "Christ, Jess, we...we could've died hating each other."

Jess felt tears pricking her eyes. She screwed her eyes shut and let out a long, shuddering breath. The sound of awkward shuffling startled her into opening them again. Emily had moved over to the couch and was now seated right next to her. Jess waited a moment, then rested her head on Emily's shoulder.

It wasn't the first time they'd sat like this. Jess took some comfort in her near-certainty that it wouldn't be the last time, either.

\------------

Her phone buzzed again for the third time in twenty minutes. She knew who was trying to reach her.

"Geez Louise, Sam," Ashley said without looking up from the tea kettle she was filling, "When did you get so popular?"

"Guess killing monsters does wonders for your reputation," Sam muttered.

She wondered how Mike's little brother had gotten her number in the first place. Mike's phone had gone the way of its master. Maybe he had Sam's number on a scrap of paper from when they were first friends or something. She didn't know. All she knew was that Jackson had the number now, and he apparently had no qualms with blowing up her phone. Sam hadn't answered a single one of his messages. Not yet, anyway.

"You like honey in your tea, Ash?"

"A little. I don't like to go, like, overboard or whatever."

"Sounds good."

She pulled out a small jar of honey and brought it over to the counter where a box of teabags and a few packets of sugar were laid out.

"Alright, pomegranate for Em, lemon ginger for me...What about you, Ash?"

"Oh, um." Ashley looked over the selections and frowned. "Chamomile, I guess."

"Chamomile it is."

They put the kettle on and waited for the water to boil. Sam set out three cups while Ash cleaned up. Sam's phone went off again.

"Fucking..." Sam grumbled.

"Seriously, Sam, who is it?"

"Mike's little brother," Sam sighed, too exhausted to lie. "He wants to know what happened."

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah."

The two of them stared at the floor, both lost for words. Sam rubbed the back of her neck. Ashley coughed.

"Listen, Ash, about that night—"

"It was my fault," Ash cut her off. "I just...I got greedy, and you were just being so nice and..."

"No. No, it's not—Ash, I don't want to, like, be a nun forever. I mean, it still hurts, being without Beth, but she'd get it. I know she would."

"You're just saying that."

"I'm not," Sam said, "You didn't know her like I did, okay? She...she would've wanted me to be happy. Just like I always wanted her—"

She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

"Anyway, it's not your fault."

"But—"

"You've done some pretty shitty things, yeah. But that doesn't mean you can't, like, ever forgive yourself or move on. That's nuts."

Ashley made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

"Look, Ash, just do whatever the hell makes you happy. That's what I'm trying to do." She thought about Emily and flushed a little. "Just, if we are gonna be, like, a thing, or whatever, there are, uh..." She bit her lip. There was no gentle way to broach this.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Look, I really like you, but there are some, uh, complications."

Ashley cocked her head.

"Like what?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Sam's mini-chapter wasn't as long this time! This chapter kinda turned into the Sam Show anyway. Whoops.  
> Anyway, I'll be taking a tiny break from this fic for a bit because a. college and b. I'm working on a new multi-chapter fic that basically retells the game's events but replaces the wendigo of the original game with vengeful, mind-breaking ghosts. I wanted to see how well UD would function as a psychological horror vehicle. I know I'm psyched. (Awkward laughter)  
> Feedback is always appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Daffodil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness is supposed to be beautiful and selfless and saintly.  
> Really though, it's just a massive pain in the ass.

In ballet, one of the first lessons you ever learn is how to keep your balance. If you can't hold a pose or move on your toes without trembling or falling, you won't get very far. Jessica had always had a knack for it. She'd moved through the ranks of her ballet classes with incredible quickness, leaving even the children of seasoned ballerinas in the dust. Jessica had been gifted from an early age with an impeccable sense of balance, rhythm and timing. She'd even gotten a bit part in the L.A. Ballet's production of  _The Nutcracker_ when she was eight. She still had the cast photo, adorned with sloppy sharpie signatures, hanging in her room.

She'd always loved to dance. Whenever a sleepover or a high school dance or a party would come along, she'd put her childhood training to use, losing herself in the music and swaying in time to the beat. It was a realm separate from her normal world, a strange forest from which the opening notes of her favorite songs drifted out like will o' the wisps leading her from the beaten path of her life and into glens unknown to her. Her boyfriends always loved it when she'd dance for them, moving her hips teasingly and letting a little flirty smile grow on her face as her seduction drew them in. Her legs moved expertly, her heartbeats perfectly in tune with the rhythm, and she could just throw away her cares and throw back her head and  _dance._

Nowadays she leaned on a cane, unsteady on her feet and graceless in her stride. The fall down the mine shaft had fucked up her leg to such a massive degree that they had failed to heal right, leaving her a crooked, broken doll.

The songs that had once enticed her felt mocking now.

Still though, she could teach herself to balance again, and that was something. She'd fallen plenty of times before; she figured she had a right to get a little sick of it.

She started modestly, walking only a few steps on her own, with her cane held timidly in her hands just in case she stumbled. Dull spurts of pain echoed through her twisted muscles and bones but she endured. Eventually, she could make it a few feet, and then a few yards, entirely on her own. Her gait was awkward and lopsided, but it was her walk and her walk alone, unassisted by anyone else.

It was getting closer to summer now. Jess's college friends were stressing over finals. In another world, thousands of realities away from this one, Jess and Emily were sitting together in a coffee shop, Emily pouring desperately over her perfectly-organized notes, Jessica comforting and encouraging her and stealing bites of the other girl's blueberry scone.

They were doing better now, the two of them. Lounging around one another's houses and going on little shopping trips when Jess felt brave and sharing late-night fears over phone calls. It was almost like before. It was nothing like before.

One lazy afternoon in late May, the two of them were flipping channels in Jessica's living room, scoffing at the daytime crap and sitting together in companionable silence. Emily, normally so impeccably dressed, was inexplicably casual, wearing nothing but jeans and a ratty Pomona tee shirt. Her face was bare too, but for a bit of eyeliner. It made Jess feel trusted, seeing Emily like this. Jess, for her part, had stopped wearing long sleeves around the house. The heat had been getting to her, and besides, she didn't have anything to hide from Em anymore. The two of them had gotten burned purging the skeletons from their closets with fire, but they'd also been cleansed. Renewed. In the ashes of everything they'd been lay a foundation for something better.

Emily flipped past Nickelodeon and Jess felt a wave of nostalgia.

"Remember when we'd watch  _iCarly_ together after school?" she asked, breaking the silence. Emily smiled just a little.

"That show was kinda shit, in retrospect."

"Oh, c'mon," Jess protested, "It wasn't that bad. Besides, the two main girls were like, super gay for each other, which is always a plus."

"Guess that's true," Emily mumbled. She hit a channel playing some trashy reality show, made a face, and turned the TV off. She turned to look her best friend full in the face. "How are you, ah, how are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just, I dunno, in general. I guess. Sam's always saying nowadays that we should keep an eye on each other and I guess she's sort of...right?" Emily looked away, fixing her gaze on a painting that Jess despised, hanging over the fireplace.

"Better, I guess. I mean, it's still hard, but it's...less, now? I don't know."

"I missed you."

Emily was still looking away from her. The talk during Jess's birthday party weeks ago flashed into her mind.

"I missed you too. I wish we hadn't fought."

"It was kind of my fault though?"

"What, you mean the prank?" Jessica asked. Emily was wandering down avenues of thought that Jess had tried her best to avoid. "That wasn't just you, Em. Mike and...and me, we played a part too. And Matt. And Ash, even."

"I mean, yeah," Emily said, "but I kinda wish I could take all of it back? Like, all this time I blamed you and Mike and Hannah and the mountain...but it was kind of all my fault? Like...if Mike and I hadn't ever been a thing—no, if I just hadn't been a jealous bitch, then, then maybe everyone would still be here?"

Silence fell. Emily wasn't crying, but Jess noticed her swallowing painfully and averting her eyes. Jessica shuffled in her seat until she was right beside her best friend. She put a hand carefully on top of Emily's own, noticing as she did that her friend's once perfectly-manicured nails had been bitten down to almost nothing.

"So, I was talking to my therapist about this kinda thing—"

"Pfft, I can't believe you actually listen to her. My shrink's a total tool."

Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," she said, "I was talking to her, and she said that...that no matter the shitty things we've done, we can't time travel. We can't bring them back. And I wish I could. More than anything. But—but we can try to learn, and get better? Like when a volcano blows up, she said. You can't make the lava go back in the...volcano hole...or whatever it's called—"

"Sounds dirty."

"I know, right? Anyway, you can't make the lava flow backwards, but you can use the soil to grow even better crops? Like, everything burned, but the soil's super fertile, and good for growing, I guess."

Emily chewed the side of her lip, the way she did when she was genuinely considering something.

"That's kind of nice, I guess," she said. "Still feel like shit, though."

"Oh, honey," Jess laughed, "Join the club."

She heard the syrupy pop song that was her ringtone going off in the other room. Emily half-stood, but Jess put a hand on her knee and pressed lightly down upon it, guiding Emily back into her seat.

"I'll get it," she told her. Emily looked uncertain.

"You sure?"

Jess rolled her eyes again.

"I'm not made of glass, Em."

Slowly, shakily, she brought herself to a standing position, her cane forgotten on the couch behind her. Jessica felt like a newborn calf, guiding her unsteady feet in an awkward forward shuffle. But she'd learned a long time ago how to keep her balance. She'd been robbed of her grace and her beauty, but not of the iron strength in her core. A fearful fire had burned within her down in the mines, had led her through the darkness when everything was pain and grief and confusion. She had lived. She had lived. She had lived.

She made the rest of the way to the kitchen and leaned gratefully on the hard-edged granite counter as she picked up the phone and hit "accept" just before it went to voicemail.

"Jess?"

"Sam. Hey," Jessica greeted, noting at once the mild apprehension in Sam's voice. This was not a casual call.

"So. Um. Jess. I feel like I need to talk to you and Em and Ash about stuff. All together. And it's weird and you'll probably hate me afterward but—"

"Woah, woah, woah," Jessica said, "What are you talking about."

"It's...I mean, it's not, like...life-or-death, or anything. But, it's just kind of something I want to talk to you guys about in person. You know?"

"Yeah," Jess said, feeling her skin begin to buzz with anxiety. "Em's with me. I'll tell her."

"Uh, cool. Let me know whenever."

"Will do. See ya, Sam."

"Yeah. Bye."

Jessica slipped the phone gingerly into her pocket and began to limp her way back to the living room. Memories of Sam blurred and washed together as she moved. Sam and Jess playing together as kids. Sam showing her a centipede and frowning as Jess recoiled and shrieked. The two of them slurping slushies in the summer heat and talking about how scared they were of growing up, of changing. Jess had been one of the first people to whom Sam came out, and Sam in turn had spurred an awakening of Jess's one sloppy, alcohol-induced night at a party. After the mountain Sam had broken their year-long period of mutual frostiness and had come to visit her in the hospital nearly every day. In the delirium of drugs and pain Sam had become a golden-haloed savior, ethereal and impossible. A saint in a world of sinners.

But she'd never been good enough for her, had she? Where Sam was light and love and courage and determination, Jess was darkness and lust and fear and despair. The messiah and the whore. What a joke.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice the catch in the living room rug until her bum leg ran straight into it. Jessica yelped and flung out her hands, a bit wildly, in an attempt to stay upright. Before she could topple, though, Emily was there in a flash, her hands moving thoughtlessly to her waist to hold her steady. They stared at each other. Jess felt a steady warmth creep through her skin. Em turned the color of a blooming poinsettia.

"Uh..."

"I got it, Em."

Jessica untangled herself from Em's embrace and limped the rest of the way to the couch. Emily stayed rooted to the spot, like she was under a spell.

"...Em?" Jess called to her after a moment, "You still with us?"

"Uh, ah...yeah, yeah. I'm fine," Emily spluttered, snapping back to life and hurrying back over to the couch. They sat apart at first, but the sudden touch had awakened something in Jessica that she'd thought had perished on the mountain. She scooted closer to Emily, taking in the heat radiating off her best friend's party. For a world-famous ice queen, Emily was surprisingly warm, at least physically. Slowly, and with more timidity than she thought any human could possess, Jess slid a hand behind her best friend and rested it lightly on Emily's lower back. Emily squeaked.

"Uh, it this, um, is this okay...?" Jess asked. Emily stared at her shoes for a minute or two before nodding stiffly. Then, with obvious trepidation, she rested her own hand on Jessica's knee.

\------------

Ashley's notebook was practically leaking ink. She'd filled every remaining page, front and back, with words describing monsters and nightmares and scenarios that upon reading felt like they'd come straight out of some third-rate horror movie. Drawings of the monsters that had ripped apart her closest friends, of the masked man that turned his pain into manipulation and hatred, of Chris's horrified face seconds before his soul was wrenched from his body like his head from his shoulders. It felt as though she were being drained of some noxious poison. But now she needed another cistern to catch the venom leaking from her mind and through her hands.

There was a mini-mart that sold stationary not far from where she lived. And so one late spring morning she grabbed a bus ride to the mini mall where the mart stood. She spent the bus ride burying her troubled thoughts in the world of a short story collection her mother had picked up for her on a whim. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a bespectacled blonde boy come onto the bus and sit down near the front. Ashley looked up in bewilderment and crazed, impossible hope. But this boy was too skinny, too tanned to be him. His hair was darker and his legs were shorter. A cheap imitation. An unwelcome reminder.

The bus ground to a halt two stops before hers and Ash made a beeline for the exit, walking the rest of the way to the mini-mart.

The store was playing hits from ten years ago over the speakers. The place smelled like industrial cleaner and the hidden anguish of a thousand doomed retail worker souls. Ashley wandered down the aisle marked "school supplies" and started thumbing through the notebooks. They were, annoyingly, all wide-ruled, but Ash supposed she could make do. She picked a nondescript black composition book and made her way down the aisle.

"Ashley? Is that you?"

Ashley turned around to find herself face-to-face with Robyn, Matt's little sister. When she'd been only six years old, she and Matt had lost their older brother Jacob in a camping accident. The two surviving siblings had grown close in the wake of his death, Matt resolving to become the older brother he'd adored in Jacob so very much. Now Robyn was on her own. Two dead brothers in fourteen years of life.

"H-hi, Robyn," Ashley said, eyeing the dark circles under the young teenager's eyes, "How are you?"

Robyn shrugged.

An announcement cam over the tinny speakers asking the manager to come to register two. Ashley hugged her notebook closer to her chest.

"I, um," Robyn looked away, then looked back, "I guess I just wanted to say...um...thanks? For being such a good friend to Matt? He...um...he talked about you a lot. I guess. I dunno. I saw you and thought I should say that." Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Ashley thought furiously, looking for anything she could say.

"I'm really sorry," she said at last, "For everything."

"It's okay."

"If there's anything I can do—"

"I'm fine." Robyn's eyes hardened. She looked in that moment much older than fourteen. "I should go. Bye, Ash."

She took off down the aisle before Ashley could say anything more.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Her apologies were worn out and unwelcome before they'd even left her lips.  _Well 'sorry' doesn't fix it,_ her father had snarled as she'd trembled and begged. All she ever did was apologize and it never did anyone any good. "Sorry" couldn't turn Hannah back to normal, couldn't cure Josh's grief, couldn't bring back all her dead friends, couldn't heal Jess's body or soothe Emily's mind or patch up Sam's heart. She could apologize a thousand times, each time more desperate and heartfelt than the last, and it would fix nothing.

The universe must have been in a "let's punish Ashley" kind of mood, because the next thing she knew she was standing before the bus stop, with a familiar, dark-haired, pissed-looking girl occupying one of the seats. And, of course, there was no one else there to serve as a buffer. Ashley considered running off to the next bus stop, but Emily saw her and fixed her with a petrifying glare before she could make a break for it.

"I, uh, I..." Ashley spluttered.

"Were you gonna sit here?" Emily asked, her tone neutral.

"I mean, yeah, but—"

"Then sit," Emily snapped, "And, Jesus Christ, stop looking at me like I'm the fucking Zodiac Killer. Just get over here."

Ashley did as she was bidden. The last time she'd seen Emily had been at Jessica's birthday party. Not that they'd interacted. They'd repelled each other like magnets and Ash had been sure to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as the party was over. Emily looked a little better than she had back then; not quite as thin, not quite as pale. There were bags under her eyes and her fingernails had been nervously gnawed away, but beyond that she was almost exactly like the old Emily. Hesitantly, Ashley took a seat across from the girl she'd almost gotten killed.

They said nothing to each other for a good five minutes. Then Emily broke the silence.

"Jess told me you talked to her after she and I fought."

Ashley bit her lip. The memory of Jessica's tear-stained face, her terrible, catching sobs, the echoing emptiness of the house, came to her all too easily.

"Yeah," she said plainly.

"Yeah, so, anyway, after that fight, I was...ugh...kinda fucked up a little. Whatever. Not important. Anyway, I just...I said some pretty shitty things to her.  _Did_ some shitty things to her. And it's still, like, eating at me? That I treated her like that?"

"Emily—"

"Shut up. This has a point. I'm not just bitching. Anyway, it's just been making me think about shit and...like...I still kind of hate you for the gun thing. But...uh, I—argh, damn it—I guess I kinda did some shitty things to you too? Like, I pushed you when we were getting out of the lodge. And, like, that could've killed you. I had a right to be pissed for the whole bite thing, but I still shouldn't have done that. So."

She looked away. Ashley wrung her hands and didn't say anything.

"Hey. Ash." Her tone was sharp and vaguely accusatory. Classic Emily. "I just bared my fucking soul to you. Care to respond?"

Ashley swallowed. Her throat was full of rocks.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I'm really, truly, genuinely sorry. For everything. You're right. I don't have an excuse. I was scared, but you were scared and Sam was sacred and Mike was scared and everybody was scared. So. Yeah. I know I've apologized a billion times or whatever but—"

"I forgive you."

"...What?"

Emily rolled her eyes and exhaled.

"I said I forgive you. Don't get precious about it."

Ashley fought the urge to check and see if the sky was falling.

"Just like that?"

"It's just—I guess I don't...want it to be like this anymore. Like. Why can't we just be like we were a million fucking years ago? I don't wanna be a goddamn war veteran. I wanna be a kid."

Ashley stared at her feet and said nothing.

"This bus is sure taking its goddamn time," Emily grumbled, "I knew I should've driven."

"What were you downtown for?" Ashley asked, feeling brave.

"Errands," Emily said flatly. Ashley decided not to push her luck.

A couple of guys across the street saw them and catcalled. Emily gave them the finger. They laughed and hurled a couple more insults at them before moving on.

"Assholes," Emily growled, "Matt would've fucking wrecked them."

Ashley smiled a little at the thought.

A few more minutes passed. Ashley pulled out her book and started to read. Then—

"Are you going to Sam's thing?"

Ashley looked up. Emily's expression was unreadable.

"Uh, yeah," she replied, "I mean, it sounded kind of urgent? I dunno."

"Okay," Emily said. "I guess, then, I'll see you there?"

Ashley nodded.

They were quiet until the bus arrived.

\------------

Sam's house hadn't changed from the last time Emily had been there, although the haze of her hangover may have made her miss some things the first time around. The four of them sat in her kitchen, feeling uncomfortably like diplomats called for peace talks. Emily, for her part, was doing her best to patch up whatever old wounds and misunderstandings remained, something the old Emily would have probably found hilarious.

Then again, the old Emily had also found a heartless prank against an innocent teenager to be hilarious, so fuck the old Emily.

Sam absently pushed a plate of cookies she'd baked for them closer to the center of the dining room table. Emily grabbed one and munched on it while waiting for Sam to finally explain what was eating her.

"Sooooo..." Emily said, trying and failing to keep the impatience out of her voice.

"So," Sam said, staring at her hands as she spoke, "You guys know Jackson, right? Mike's little brother?"

Jessica shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Emily reached out and held her hand under the table.

"What about him?" Ashley asked, her voice small.

Sam coughed, took one of the cookies from the plate, nibbled at it.

"...He's been kinda hounding me about what happened. Like, we're talking at least sixty texts a day."

Emily blinked.

"Jesus Christ," she said. Jessica's hand went clammy in hers. Emily squeezed it.

"Anyway," Sam said, "I just...don't know what to do, I guess? Like, if it were my brother, I'd want to know, and, like, he's not gonna stop until somebody fesses up but it's just so impossible and I don't wanna lie to him."

Emily scoffed.

"Sam, come on. What are you gonna tell him, that evil-spirit-cannibal-monster-things came after us and we had to torch the lodge to kill them and he got caught in the fire? Who'd believe that shit?"

"Well," Sam replied, looking helpless, "What am I supposed to tell him?"

"What has he been told?" Ashley asked.

"Practically nothing," Jess said. She didn't meet anyone's eyes as she spoke. "He doesn't know anything about what happened to him. They won't even let Mike's family have his body."

Emily bristled.

"Has Jackson been texting you too?" Ashley asked. Jess nodded stiffly.

"If he wants the truth, that's his right," Sam said, "I mean, who am I to lie and say it wasn't my fault?"

"It wasn't," Emily said quietly.

"No, Em, it was," Sam snapped back, "I left him to die. I hit the switch. It's my fault."

"Sam, that thing fucking snapped his neck. He wasn't getting up from that."

"But—"

"Besides," Emily cut her off, "What good will it do him knowing how he really died? He won't feel any better. He'll just be angry and lost."

 _Like Josh,_ was the unspoken sentiment.

"Tell him there was a gas leak," Ashley said, "And it caused a fire. And Mike—Mike got everyone out but he...died...before he could escape too."

Sam chewed her lip. The cookie in her hand was crumbling.

"I don't know..."

"If you tell him the truth, he'll never believe you," Emily said, "At least if you tell him that he'll think his big brother went out like a hero."

Sam's eyes clouded over but she nodded a little.

"Okay," she said, "Okay."

"Was that all?" Emily asked.

"Well, um, I guess I also just wanted to make sure you guys were doing okay?" Sam said, eyeing each of them as if checking for cracks.

"I'm alright, I guess," Ash answered. "Less nightmares, thank God."

"Same," Emily agreed.

"What about you, Jess?"

Jess shrugged.

"Better," she said plainly. Sam nodded.

"I want to have a girls' night with you guys. Like we used to. Could we maybe do something like that one of these days?"

The girls cast uncomfortable places at each other. Then, surprising herself, Emily piped up.

"Sure. Let's do it. I'm getting stir-crazy at my own house anyway."

Ash and Jess stared at her. Emily shrugged.

"...Uh, alright. I guess I'd be up for it," Ashley said after a moment or two. "...Jess?"

Jess nodded shyly.

Sam brightened.

"Oh, cool!" she said, "So, next weekend maybe?"

Emily looked over at the others, then nodded.

"Works for me."

They left after that, Emily taking one last cookie for the road. She and Jess slipped into her car without comment. Emily put her keys in the ignition and listened to the engine purr to life before turning to her best friend.

"Nervous about the girls' night thing?" she asked.

Jessica nodded.

"I'll be there," Emily told her, "All night. I'll have your back. And if you need to step out, I'll go with you. Okay?"

Jess smiled a little.

"Okay."

"Good. And I think we better be in charge of the movie selection, 'cause you know Sam and Ash can't pick a good movie for shit."

\------------

The house felt empty without them. Even when her parents were home with her, Sam's heart ached for her friends. It was strange. She'd always prided herself on being so independent, yet in the wake of everything that had happened she felt tiny and hollow without the others. It was something she'd been reluctant to tell her therapist. She felt pathetic, needing people like that. What did it say about her that she wanted so badly to be the mother hen that she'd fall into a depression without chicks to watch over?

She loved them. All of them. It was something she'd stumblingly tried to explain to Ashley back during Jess's birthday but had given up, muttering a little "never mind" and thanking the stars when Ash, probably just as embarrassed as she'd been, had dropped it.

She thought about Jackson. About the phone call she was going to have to make, and soon. The prospect felt like ripping off a bandaid, only approximately a billion times worse. Sam ran a hand through her hair before tying it back in a loose ponytail. Her phone was sitting in her pocket like a sheathed sword. She could do it. Right now. Just bite the bullet and tell him the heroic lie and just get it over with. But when she reached for her phone her hand shook and froze and would go no further.

She heard the garage door grumble open. Her mom and dad were home from their errands.

"Saw Emily's car pulling out when we were coming in," her father said, putting down a bag of groceries on the countertop, "Was she over?"

"Everybody sorta was," Sam replied, shuddering internally a little at how small "everybody" had become.

"Oh yeah?" her mom piped up, "How's the crew?"

"Oh, you know," Sam said, unhelpfully.

She joined her parents in putting away the remaining groceries.

"Hey, mom?" Sam said, snapping the fridge door shut, "Is it okay if I have the girls over for a girls' night next weekend?"

Her parents looked at each other.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," her mother said, smiling warmly. "Would they stay over for the night, do you think?"

Sam shrugged.

"Maybe? I dunno, honestly."

"Well, they're welcome regardless," her father said, "Unless Jessica tries to run off with one of the dogs again."

Sam chuckled at the memory. They'd been twelve. It had been Sam, Jess and a couple mutual friends celebrating their elementary school "graduation" by pulling a summer sleepover at Sam's. At around eleven at night Sam's Boston terrier Chelsea had crashed the party, and before anyone could do anything to stop her Jess had captured the dog in her arms and had made a break for the door, jokingly announcing that the dog was now hers.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Sam told them with an actor's seriousness.

Her dad smiled and tousled her hair. They'd always gotten along, Sam and her dad. They'd spent countless afternoons going on walks and talking about anything and everything, her dad teaching her about gravity and light, Sam enthusing about her science classes or hiking plans or latest crushes. He'd even given her some cheesy pick-up lines to use on girls (not that they'd been terribly effective).

A crow cawed loudly outside, then took off, flying out over the hills. She couldn't get thoughts of Jackson, of Robyn, of Stephanie, of the Washingtons, out of her head.

"Hey, Mom? Dad?" Sam asked out of the blue. Her parents faced her. "Did you guys ever...think about having more kids?"

Her parents shared a glance. Then her mother spoke.

"We did. And we tried. But, the doctors told us that after you I was sort of...done," she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her uterus. "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno," Sam said, "It's just, everything that happened, like. So many people lost brothers and sisters on that mountain and I just...don't know what it's like? Or something? It must be awful. And, like, Josh always said I understood him, but did I really? I just— I wonder if I could've prevented the whole thing if I could just get him more? I don't know."

There was a pause. Her mother stepped forward after a minute and pulled her into a firm hug.

"Sammy," she said, "You have so much love. So much compassion. You care so much for your friends. And for everyone. And maybe, yeah, there were things you only would get if you had siblings but...you've done so much for your friends and for us. You forget all the good you've done when you're beating yourself up for your mistakes. You can't let yourself do that."

Sam's lips trembled a little. She sniffed.

"Thanks, Mom."

"I think you've done your friends a lot of good, especially now," her dad added. "Recovery is hard for anybody, but it gets a little easier when you have people in it with you."

Sam thought about Emily, drunk and sobbing in her arms. She thought about Ashley hyperventilating over the phone at four in the morning. She thought about Jessica, pale and lost and small in her own home. Recovery was such bullshit. But they had each other.

The four of them, battered and broken and clumsily taped together with time and therapy and well-meaning words. The four of them, holding one another up to keep from falling. It was like mountain climbing, she thought. Always better to have other people with you on the climb.

The mountain, the monsters, and them. The four luckiest, unluckiest girls in the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, finally! Phew!  
> Thanks for sticking with this fic, guys. It really means a lot to me if y'all are still reading and enjoying it.  
> Again, updates will be sporadic, but I hope to get this one done by the summer at the very latest.  
> Some sexual content may come up in the next chapter, just so you guys know. What happens at girls' nights stays at girls' nights.  
> Also, I have a [tumblr](http://imdisappointingmyparents.tumblr.com) now, if you guys wanna go check that out!  
> As always, feedback (ESPECIALLY comments!) is wholeheartedly appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Delphinium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is hard. Love is weird. Love is wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there are mentions of child abuse and a brief mention of transphobia in this chapter.  
> Also, I've never written anything sexual before, so please pardon my fumbling ineptitude.

A sweet June breeze blew in from the west. The eucalyptus trees hummed in the wind, their rubbery leaves gently sliding together and apart again. The graveyard was peaceful, the stones sitting pretty, the bones they protected tucked neatly away in wooden beds six feet beneath the grass. The soft pink light of sunset painted the grim place in sweet pastels, turning the gravestones into macabre parodies of Valentine's sweet tarts. A small round stone lay, heavy and burdensome, in Ashley's pocket. It was her first time at Chris's grave. She knew perfectly well that no bones lay underneath the earth, no rotting parody of the kind smile and bright eyes that had once entranced her. The search party that had ventured up to the mines had never returned, nor had the teams sent after them. The mountain was cordoned off now, under heavy quarantine, the blight of its curse trapped within the empty, echoing veins of its caves.

Ashley did not know for sure what had happened to Josh. But she could guess.

She shuddered where she stood, though it was warm out. A dog barked somewhere. Children laughed. Hell had opened its maws on a frigid winter night, shattering the survivor' souls and staining the insides of their eyelids with nightmares. It had melted away four lives like snowflakes on a hot plate. And yet summer still came. Children still laughed. People still went to school and work and fell in love and fought and laughed and aged and died. The revelation of the supernatural world had changed the mundane world around her very little, but had left her with fears that made no sense and scars she could never explain.

Had turned her, ever so briefly, into a monster. And back, like a werewolf coming to after a full moon falls to find her lover dead by her own claws.

She still heard his screams at night. And Josh's. And Mike's. Her nightly exorcisms, staining her hands with ink and filling notebook after notebook, were imperfect in their cleansing. The wendigo still nipped at her heels as she paced her shadowy room at night. She still felt the lick of flames on her back, still smelled blood in her hair. She wasn't sure who or what she was now. A monster and a murderer to be sure, but a very sorry one. One who loved and cried and regretted with everything in her and poured her fragile, broken, blackened heart into notebook pages and stolen kisses with her solemn, quiet savior, whose eyes glazed over into flat dead pearls of green more often than she'd like.

Ashley's throat tightened. The stone in her pocket felt suddenly heavier.

"H-hey," she murmured at last. "It's me."

It was ridiculous. Talking to him. Talking not even to his body, but to the empty, dirt-mired casket that stood for him.

"Can't imagine you're thrilled to hear from me," she said, in spite of herself. "That's...understandable. I'd feel the same way." She paused. "I kind of...did feel the same way. I guess."

She thought of Chris's anguished face, the flicker of fear in his eyes that slowly took him over and sent that awful impulse from his brain down his arm until she'd been staring down the barrel of a gun and heard the impossibly loud bang that she was so sure would be the last thing she'd ever hear.

"But that's—I'm...not coming to justify myself. At all. You don't deserve to have to hear that. Not after what I did to you." A hard lump formed in her throat. She swallowed around it. "I just—I wanna just tell you I'm sorry."

She heard a sob from somewhere else in the graveyard cut through the mild summer air. Ashley lowered her head, fixing her gaze on a browning bouquet of pink carnations someone had left before Chris's headstone.

 _Christopher Albert Anders,_ the grave read,  _January 26th, 1996-February 2nd, 2015. Beloved son, brother, and friend._

"It's just," she started again, "I know that—that you s-said that we didn't waste any time. B-but there was still so much—so much I wanted to do with you. See with you. It's just...it's not fair." She laughed humorlessly. "And I know that's s-so cliché, right? Crying foul when shit like this happens when I'm statistically one of the luckiest people alive. Like, you're not the first person ever to die young, b-but—" she broke off and sobbed. Her hands were shaking violently.

"Damn it, Chris, why you? You d-didn't deserve that. You were always so...so..."

She bit down hard on her lip. She didn't know what she was saying anymore.

"Of...of all of us...it should've been you who got out okay...y-you n-n-never hurt anybody...and I...I..." 

The dying flowers rustled dryly in the evening breeze. Ashley's cheeks were warm, white-hot tears cascading down her face and splashing down on the fertile ground.

"...I'm so sorry..."

She remembered a scare during her senior year when her dad had tried to fly over to L.A. and track her down. She'd spent that week jumping at every shadow and counting the cracks on her ceiling on the sleepless nights, when every creaking board or passing car signified the unbidden return of her father. Chris had found her after school quietly crying in the deserted auditorium, and had spent the whole evening with her, going out for ice cream, walking about town, talking about video games and people-watching. Then they'd gone back to his place and hung out and played Cards Against Humanity with Chris's sister Stephanie until Ash had passed out on Chris's couch, getting the most sleep she'd had in five days. He was always doing things like that. Staying up late and texting with Josh when his mental health had gone to hell; offering his bedroom to Emily when her parents were fighting; comforting Hannah when her asshole gym teacher had called her a sissy boy in front of her peers. Giving without expecting anything back.

But then again, that hadn't been the Chris she'd seen across the table from her, pointing a gun at her head so easily.

"I just...I know I said it should have been me...and I—I really meant it, I did. But you did it so easily. Like it was nothing. It—it was like you were somebody else. I just didn't feel like I could t-trust you anymore. Like y-you'd do it again if you had to. And I thought you might have to..."

She was justifying herself again. Trying to walk out of the guilt that enveloped her.

"Damn it...I'm just really...really fucking sorry. And I know that doesn't mean anything now, but...God, I'd give anything to take it back. T-to have you back. There's just s-so much, so much we'll never get to do together now. I miss you so much..."

She rubbed her eyes and sniffled loudly.

"But I know a-all about you a-and your FOMO, s-so I'll try to keep you in on w-what's happening with us." She laughed a little at the absurdity of it. Sharing all the hot gossip with a ghost. But it made the vice around her ribcage get just a little bit looser. "We're h-having a Girls' Night tonight, for, like, the first time in a million years. We'll probably just talk for like five minutes and watch a movie and pass out, is my prediction."

She reached into her pocket with her left hand and pulled out the stone. It was a river rock, rounded by the thousand-year passage of fast fresh water all around it. Smoothing it over with time, like ruptured skin. Like a wound. She placed it carefully on top of the grave, careful to not put it too close to the edge. Ashley knelt down after putting the stone down, careful not to crush the flowers with her knees. Her hand moved delicately across the smooth stone surface of the grave, like a lover's touch.

"See you next week, Chris," she whispered, "Tell the others I said hi. And that I'm sorry, b-but I guess that's kind of a given."

Her phone buzzed in her other pocket. Ashley stood and read the text.

**Remember guys: Girls Night @ my place tonight! lmk if you can't make it.**

She slipped the phone back in her pocket, let out a sigh that was equal parts remorse and release, and made her way back to her car.

\------------

Jessica took a bite of pizza a little too quickly after opening the box, and hand to put the slice back down and fan her burning mouth. Emily stifled a giggle.

"Hey, watch it, you," Jess said after her tongue was back in working order, pointing a plastic fork accusingly at her, "Or I'm reserving the right to stick this fork in your eye."

"Pfft, like you'd even be able to."

"Oh ho ho, is that a challenge?"

"Okay, guys," Sam cut in, raising her hands in a gesture of peace, "No eye gouging in this humble household tonight, alright? Let's all just play nice and watch movies and paint our nails and do girly shit for an evening. Alright?"

"Aw, you're no fun, Sam," Jess tutted. She blew on her slice and tried again, taking a grateful bite of the melted cheese and smiling dreamily. She hadn't had junk food this satisfying since before the mountain. Leave it to Sam to find the best refreshments she could never eat.

Sam took a bite of the vegan garlic bread she'd ordered for herself and smiled warmly at her companions. Jessica thought she could detect something else in that smile of hers—something curious, wanting, even—but she couldn't be sure. Not that she was complaining.

Ashley looked like she wasn't even there all the way. She was slouched in her chair, her eyes glazed over with distant thought. Her makeup was slightly smeared; she apparently hadn't had the time or the energy to redo it. Jess fought the urge to reach over and offer comfort; somehow it didn't feel right, not then. Jess finished the rest of her pizza without comment, watching Ashley out of the corner of her eye and thinking about the way her untidy red hair framed her youthful face.

"So, Sam, " Emily said, breaking the silence, "What shit movies are we gonna have to endure this evening?"

"Okay, Ebert," Sam laughed, "Good to know your tastes are impeccable as ever. Well, I have Netflix on my family's Xbox, so you may pick whatever you desire."

"The day that Em gets to pick the movie we watch is the day that I die," Jessica declared. "No way am I sitting through any more Oscar-bait-y 'character-driven' shit."

"We can vote, we can vote," Sam told them, "Geez, you two will make any excuse to go to war. It's actually impressive."

"We've had years of practice," Emily remarked, but she was smiling. She was wearing her favorite lip gloss, the one that made her lips warm and sweet and inviting from across the room. Jess fought the urge to kiss her right then and there. Jessica finished her slice and immediately reached for another. She was absolutely famished—after weeks of being unable to make herself eat more than the bare minimum, she was beyond glad that her appetite was back.

"So, guys," Sam said, nibbling at another slice of bread, "What's new? Got any gossip for me?"

Jess looked across the table to see Emily's eyes light up. But she beat her to it.

"Remember Lauren Taylor? That chick who dated Ma—who had that insane beef with Emily for, like, three years or something?"

Sam nodded and leaned in a little. Mom friend though she was, even Sam couldn't resist a good bit of gossip.

"What about her?"

Emily beat Jess to the punchline this time.

"Apparently she and the other bitches at her sorority or whatever got, like, super shitfaced at this frat party at her school, and she drunk-dialed the dean and, like, fucking propositioned him. Nearly got kicked out for it," she said, the last of her report devolving into wicked giggles. Jess joined in laughing until she could barely breathe. Sam laughed a little, but mostly looked concerned for Emily's high school arch-nemesis.

"She's okay, though?"

"Oh, I'm sure she's fine," Emily said, waving a hand. "It's not like she, like, murdered somebody or something. It's fine."

"She's got a leg up over us then," Ashley said, speaking up for the first time.

An uncomfortable silence fell.

"Uh, well," Sam said after a moment, clapping her hands together, "How 'bout we take the rest of the food over to the living room and watch some bad movies, eh?"

The others made mumbling noises of agreement and they moved their food over to the overstuffed couches and armchairs of Sam's living room. Sam bent over her Xbox, fiddling with it for a bit, then turned her TV on and hit the 'Netflix' option on the main menu. A number of movies came up on the bright red screen. Jess had already seen most of them before.

"Alright," Sam said, facing the screen, "Anybody got any suggestions?"

"Well, since the Princess of Cinema here doesn't approve of my tastes, maybe we should just let her make an executive decision," Emily snarked.

Jessica grinned. She put her hand in the air like she was a grade school kid. Emily huffed and rolled her eyes. Ashley smiled a little.

"Alright, Jess," Sam said after she turned around, the controller hanging loose in one hand, "What's your call?"

" _Beauty and the Beast_!"

Emily snorted.

"Seriously, Jessica? Fucking Disney? What are you, eight?"

"Oh, shut up, Bitter Betty," Jess shushed her, "Who doesn't need a little Disney magic in their lives?"

"I'd be up to it," Sam said. She looked at the one silent member of the party. "Ash?"

"That's fine," Ashley said.

The put on the film and settled in, starting out on separate chairs and couches before gradually migrating to the floor. Jessica rested her head on Sam's shoulder, planting a slightly nervous kiss on her cheek as Belle sang her heart out in a field of gold. Sam wrinkled her nose.

"Pizza breath," she teased.

Jess heard Emily grumble unintelligibly and looked over to see her friend quietly seething with unmistakable jealousy.

"Oh, c'mon, Em," she said, "If you're gonna be all jealous and moody, come on over here so we can make ya feel better."

Emily looked hesitant.

"B-both of you?" she stammered, sounding uncharacteristically shy.

Jessica shrugged.

"Why not?"

Emily shuffled over to them, Jess slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. Sam nestled on her other side. One of her hands draped lazily across Jessica's stomach, touching Emily's arm invitingly. After a moment or two of hesitation, Emily entwined their fingers. They rested their interlocked hands on Jessica's stomach, the light, soft pressure feeling bizarrely good. Jessica sighed and smiled as her friends rested their heads on her shoulders, feeling for the first time since the mountain like something people actually wanted.

\------------

The plates and silverware are doing their little song and dance number when Emily lifts her head from Jessica's chest to find Ashley bathed in flickering multicolor light, hugging her knees and staring at the screen with that same faraway look she'd had earlier. None of them had said anything for the past ten minutes or so, but Ashley's dead-eyed stare was making her nauseous.

"Okay," she said, her tone hard but not unkind, "What's up with you, Ash?"

Ashley looked up at her, surprised.

"Huh?"

"You've been all weird and quiet and thousand-yard-stare-y all night. It's creepy. What's eating you?"

"Em—" Sam started.

"No! I'm sick of all of us hiding shit and keeping it in. That's what fucked everybody over in the goddamn first place. No more hiding. I'm sick of it!"

"Yeah, but—"

"It's okay, Sam," Ashley said, "I, uh, I wanna get it off my chest."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

Ashley moved a little closer to them. Emily clicked her tongue impatiently.

"So...?"

Ashley took a deep breath.

"I talked to Chris today," she said, with forced casualness, "At his grave. I've just been thinking about that. I guess."

Everybody went quiet. So quiet, in fact, that they all jumped in surprise when the Beast roared at Belle to get out of the West Wing.

Then, surprising herself, Emily made a confession.

"I talk to Matt sometimes."

Ashley went bug-eyed in the dark.

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. At night, when I can't sleep. I just...start talking. About all the shit I never got to tell him."

She'd lost count of the amount of the times she'd told him she loved him. Matt had never heard her say it while he lived.

There was another pause. The four of them watched the Beast wrestled with wolves in silence. The snapping teeth and roaring and snowfall took Emily back to the mouth of a mine shaft and the platform beyond, the snarling monster right behind her with claws and teeth poised to rip her flesh apart and the deadly, disused equipment ready to grind her into paste. She could feel the harsh, angry snowflakes hitting her face, agitating the cut on her forehead that had scabbed over into the scar she now wore permanently. Could feel the terrified thumping of her heart, the electrical current of terror running through her veins, the certainty that she was about to die.

Emily sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. Counted silently to ten. She opened her eyes and glanced at the furniture in the room, mentally labelling each thing her eyes fell upon.

_Couch. Armchair. Rug. Television. Console. Painting. Fireplace._

Her breathing steadied. Sam gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Emily returned the gesture after a moment.

"There was just...just so much I'll never get to do with him," Ashley sighed. "We'd always talked around everything, never acted on anything. I thought—" she sniffed. "I thought we had time."

Emily thought of all the things Matt would never hear from her. How much she'd come to love him. How sorry she was. How safe and secure and valued he'd made her feel in the days after Mike and Jess had left her and made her feel like nothing.

"It's hard," she said, "Thinking of all that shit. Of knowing so much was wasted. It's—it—it sucks."

On the screen Belle and the Beast were beginning to fall in love as a charming, squeaky-clean Medieval winter passed. She heard Ashley starting to cry.

"But you have to move on. As shitty as that sounds. And it is. It's super shitty. But—but if you just spend all your time thinking about all your past fuck-ups you lose the opportunity to get better and experience new things and just—just live, I guess." Emily gesticulated vaguely as she spoke. She could feel Jess and Sam's eyes on her. She had no idea where she was going with this. "And that doesn't mean that, like, you just forget the people that meant shit to you. But you don't...ah...you don't let yourself just freeze over, I guess. You keep living. And you remember. And you don't let all the shit you've been through rule you. I guess."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, "You let yourself mourn, and you let yourself remember, and you try to move on as well as you can. And it's never easy, but it's doable. And eventually you start to get kind of okay again. It's so, so hard. But you'll make it. All of you will."

Ashley started crying harder.

"C'mere, Ash," Jessica said, her voice soft and kind.

After a moment or two, Ashley shifted until her head was resting on Sam's bosom, Sam's free hand stroking Ashley's long red hair. Ash continued to sob.

"It's okay," Jessica whispered over and over, a mantra not just for Ash, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

Emily leaned into Jessica and sighed deeply, feeling safe and content for the first time in what felt like years.

They lay like that, safe and sated in each other's arms, as the movie drew to a close.

"Gotta say," Jess said as the Beast changed back into a prince in a flash of white light, "I thought he was honestly hotter as a monster."

"Well, yeah," Sam said, "But, like, can you imagine trying to bang him when he was a beast? Like, all that hair and stuff?"

"I have," Ashley said mildly.

Emily nearly choked on her own spit.

\------------

Sam honestly wasn't sure how a Disney movie and a heart-to-heart about grief and loss had turned into this.

Emily had rolled Sam's shirt up to expose her bra and was kissing her stomach while her hands traced her hips as if trying to memorize them. Meanwhile, Jess and Ash were nestled nearby, making out with surprising care as their hands wandered up and down each other's bodies, exploring. The whole thing felt like something out of a bad lesbian porno. Except, of course, for the fact that just about all of them were crying.

After the movie had ended the four of them had sat there in the dark, listening to the others breathe with a kind of wonder. And fear, almost. Fear that at any moment one of the four of them would simply stop breathing, stop living, stop being. Life felt so precarious now, like roses in a blizzard, enduring terrible storms and trembling on the hillside, their petals battered and their thorns exposed but completely, miraculously alive. It was a kind of life that one had to grip onto tightly and madly. Even the slightest relaxation would bring back the storm, the snow, the death that came in and wandered off with far too many souls, all so, so young.

She wasn't sure why they'd started to cry. Maybe it was just being there, in the dark, all together and alive and terribly scarred. The reality of it all sinking in.

Emily, of all people, had been the first to tear up. Then Jess. Ash and Sam had followed suit, like bursting into tears was just the latest hot trend they were getting on board with. And then Sam was holding Emily's face and kissing her forehead and then her lips, savoring the taste of her, and then—

Well.

And then _this._

Sam was not a sexual person. Never had been. Beth had been adventurous in ways that excited and terrified her in equal measure, but sex beyond the context of Beth had never interested Sam much. Love could just as well exist without it, in her opinion. But in the quiet in the dark, the movement of lips on skin felt right in a way it seldom did, and Sam surged up to press her lips to Emily's neck. There was a kind of healing in this sort of physicality. A gentleness to the want that burned like hot coals in the pit of her stomach. She could give and receive and marvel in how real everyone was, how their skin felt against hers, how incredibly, impossibly, blissfully alive everyone felt.

Emily pulled away from her and snaked her arms around Ashley, pulling her in and wrapping her arms around the smaller girl's body before capturing Ash's mouth in a kiss. Jessica, in turn, pulled Sam up from her position on the floor and began to feel her up, her hands moving expertly across her still-exposed abdomen as she gently caught Sam's earlobe with her teeth.

This was beyond strange. But kind of wonderful all the same. Sam kissed Jessica's scarred collarbone, her tongue ghosting across the warm, delicate skin. Then she pulled the other girl in close and rested her head on Jessica's chest while the taller girl covered her hair in kisses. Sam listened, enraptured, to the steady drumbeat of Jess's beating heart. Pumping blood and channeling life into every inch of her, in spite of everything.

It was okay. They'd be okay.

Eventually the four of them grew tired, and fell together in a sleepy heap, their tears dried, their mouths forming effortless, slightly loopy smiles. Nobody spoke. There were no words needed. They lay there together, taking in each other's warmth and letting themselves drift off into a blissful, peaceful sleep.

They stayed there, safe and together and content in the way that restless, fire-veined teenagers seldom are, and slept peacefully, unbothered by nightmares, until dawn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist the title drop. Sorry.  
> Man, I can't believe I'm almost done with this puppy! I hope you guys have been enjoying it thus far.  
> There's probably a market for really sad lesbian porn, right? (It's called straight dudes writing lesbians, probably).  
> Not sure when the next update will be, but hopefully it will be out by early May.  
> Happy Easter! Hope you enjoyed the softcore sin on this holiest of days.  
> Please drop a comment if you liked it! I love them comments.  
> If you're interested, you can find me on [tumblr](http://imdisappointingmyparents.tumblr.com).  
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Plumeria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A list is made. Some loose ends are tied. Old shoes are thrown out. New ones will be bought. Eventually.  
> They're not healed yet, not completely, but they're getting there.

_Click, click._

_Clickclickclick._

"Ash, if you don't stop clicking that fucking pen, I am morally obligated to kick your ass to Alpha Centauri."

Ashley snapped out of her trance and looked up from the blank piece of paper on her desk. The cleanliness of her room was still taking some getting used to. Emily had come over that morning to pass time combing through Ashley's books for anything she hadn't read yet, and immediately upon crossing the threshold of her bedroom, she'd been rooted to the spot for a solid two minutes, stunned into horrified silence by the state of Ashley's room. Then Ash had watched with mild fear as a fire lit itself in Emily's eyes and she'd fixed Ash with a glare.

"We're cleaning this place up. Right. Now."

Truth be told, it was Emily that had done most of the work. Ashley didn't know the first thing about actual house cleaning; the most she ever did was stuff junk in her closet when her room got too cluttered and take out the waste bin by her desk when her mom got on her ass about it. She'd expected Em to be huffy and cross by the time they were finally done, but instead Emily had said nothing about it and had retired to Ashley's freshly made bed, cracking open a copy of  _Fingersmith_ Ash had left lying around.There she'd said until about eight seconds ago, when the habitual clicking of Ashley's pen had apparently become unbearable.

"Sorry," Ash said, "I'm just trying to figure out this stupid list is all."

Emily cocked her head.

"What kind of list are we talking about?"

Ashley rubbed the back of her head, suddenly self-conscious.

"It's, like, a bucket list. Kind of."

Emily snorted.

"What, is this the whole 'near-death experience makes you realize the finite nature of life' thing or whatever?"

Ashley turned around in her chair and shot her a coy smirk.

"Y'know, Em, you have these little moments where you  _almost_ sound as smart as you are. And then you go right back to sounding like a walking L.A. stereotype. You're truly a marvel of nature."

Emily raised your eyebrows.

"Okay, first off, smartass-ery isn't a good look on you. Second, you're dodging the question."

"Which is...?"

"Why the bucket list? Is it 'cause we almost died or because you just got three new girlfriends, which is kind of like death too, honestly, or is it some weird third thing?"

Ashley considered.

"Uh, both? Neither? Third thing? I don't really know. I just know I've got a lot I'd like to do and stuff, and now that I'm not spending, like, every day lying around my house, I'd like to use every day I can, you know?"

Emily tucked a lock of hair behind her shoulder. Ashley noticed it was getting longer.

"Guess that makes sense," Emily conceded, "Still kinda stupid, though."

"Thanks for the loving support, Em."

"I only speak the truth."

"Uh huh," Ashley said, then turned back to her list, frowning. For all the time she wanted to spend being young and unburdened and alive, she was sure having a hell of a time coming up with the specifics.

"Hey," Emily said after a minute or two, "If you're having trouble with that dumb list or whatever, can I help?"

"I'm a little scared of what you'd be inclined to put on the list, to be honest."

"Pfft, how dare you question my judgement." Emily walked over to the desk and leaned over the paper, one hand beginning to comb soothingly and methodically through Ashley's hair. Ashley leaned into the touch and took in a breath, savoring the scent of Emily's delicate, probably ridiculously expensive perfume.

"Okay," Emily said, picking up Ash's pen with her free hand, "First and foremost, a wardrobe revamp is definitely in order."

Ashley pursed her lips.

"What's wrong with how I dress?"

Emily sighed the sigh of a weary governess with too many children to look after.

"Oh honey. If we were to get into the nitty gritty of how awful your whole 'fell out of bed chic' thing you've got going is, we'd be here all night."

"I wouldn't mind that," Ashley purred. "Well, maybe I'd mind the lecturing part."

Emily leaned in a little and wrote  _Operation Save Ash From Herself_ in her usual tidy, tiny handwriting. Ashley raised her eyebrows.

"Are all your suggestions gonna be thinly-veiled attacks on my character?"

"Self-improvement is good for the soul. 'Sides, when you look good you feel good, so." Emily paused and thought for a second, then, in an unprecedentedly shy tone, asked, "What about, uh, like, poetry slams? You like those?"

Ashley turned to stare at her.

"You go to poetry slams?"

Emily's cheeks went slightly pink.

"Not...officially."

Ashley smirked.

"Do you go in disguise?" she asked.

"Only when I'm going to your place."

Ashley rolled her eyes.

"Good one," she said.

"Only the best for my favorite bookworm," Emily replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. Ashley snatched the pen out of her girlfriend's grip.  _Operation Go To Poetry Slam and Force Emily to Read Embarrassing Poem,_ she wrote.

"Oh, you wouldn't  _dare—"_

"Is that a challenge?"

"Pfft, you wish, nerd," Emily snorted. She returned her attention to the list. "What about traveling somewhere?"

"I don't wanna leave my mom alone for too long," Ashley said, "Especially after—"

"Yeah, you're right. No travel."

"No travel," Ashley repeated. She stared at the list. "Wow, a whole two items. Look at us, the dynamic list-making duo."

"Don't look at me," Emily told her, "You're the one who wanted to write the damn thing."

"I know, I know," Ashley sighed.

"I think maybe you're being a bit too...I dunno...ambitious?" Emily said, her voice softer than before. "Like, we had a traumatic experience. Or whatever. It's, like, normal to no be able to conquer the world after that, you know? Maybe we should take it easy for a bit. Just...take it day by day. Relax, you know." She paused, thinking. "You have a reading list?"

Ash thought of the box of Chris's books, unopened, lying underneath her bed.

"I guess," she mumbled.

"Maybe you could, like, do some summer reading or whatever," Emily said, stroking her hair again, "Join a book club or something."

Ashley snorted.

"Book club? Em, I'm gonna be a little old lady soon enough. I don't need to start early."

"Yeah, okay, fine," Emily said, "Just, y'know, do little things. Read shit. Watch bad movies. Work out. Stuff like that."

"I'm down for everything except exercise," Ash told her, "Think maybe the four of us could have more movie-and-making-out-nights in the future?"

Emily smirked.

"I think that could be arranged."

\------------

They'd finally settled on the small park by the high school track. It was summer now, so it was unlikely that they'd get too many eavesdroppers. Sam got there first, pulled out her phone, and waited. Her stomach was full of bats. The bright, early summer sun hanging in a cloudless Robin's-egg sky did little to ease her nerves.

She scrolled listlessly through NPR's online news feed. The Washington Lodge Disaster had long since left the news cycle, the world's attention returning to global terrorism and changing gas prices, to post-recession market fluctuations and the latest celebrity mishap. In the arts tab, she noticed an interview with Bob Washington, who, in spite of everything, was still releasing his latest film in July. Sam's finger lowered over the link to the interview for a moment, but then a too-familiar voice caught her attention.

"Sam."

Jackson looked like Mike to an almost unsettling degree. His hair was dark and unkempt, his eyes an intense, serious brown, his jaw sculpted in a way that Mike had always jokingly called "the ladykiller edge." There was youth and earnestness in his face where there had mostly been charm and confidence in Mike's, though, and there was a haunted look in his eyes that Sam feared would never leave them.

"Hey, Jackson," she said, "Easy drive here, I hope?"

Jackson nodded and said nothing. Sam scooted over on the bench. He took the seat beside her without saying anything. Sam shifted in her seat.

"So, um." Sam searched his face and found nothing reassuring. "For a while now you've been trying to figure this whole mountain thing out, and what happened to Mike, and everything..." She rubbed the back of her neck. A sunburn was just starting to emerge there. "A-and you're right. You deserve to know what happened."

Jackson nodded, still silent. There were purple-blue circles under his eyes.

"You, uh, want me to start from the beginning?" Sam asked.

"Tell me everything," Jackson replied.

Sam swallowed.

"Okay," she said, "Okay." She cleared her throat. "So, um, back in February we all went up to Josh's winter place to...kinda...honor Hannah and Beth. I guess. And, like, get drunk and shit. Anyway. So we all got up there and Em and Jess got in this fight and..."

She recounted the whole story as well as she could, right up until Emily's return from the mines. She paused, wrestling with the idea of telling him the impossible truth.

Jackson cocked his head.

"Wait, what happened then?" he asked, "What did she see?"

"Well, uh," Sam said, "We, uh, weren't sure. She wasn't really making sense. I think she was in shock, you know? But, uh, just after she got back we heard someone banging on the door and..."

Jackson blinked.

"And...?"

"And..." Sam mumbled, "And he, uh, he attacked us. This weird guy who looked like he'd been on the mountain for a while. Said we shouldn't have been there."

"Wait, the guy on the news?"

"Y-yeah," Sam said. Something twisted in her gut. "Him. The guy who was all weird with the Washingtons and the mountain and stuff. He probably, uh, he's probably the one who killed Hannah and Beth, too."

Trapped in the lie she was spinning, she had no choice but to continue, painting their savior as a murderer, a maniac, a tired slasher movie cliché. She told Jackson how he went after Chris and killed him just outside the lodge, how he'd probably run off with Josh, how she and Mike went to the mines to try and find him.

"So did you find him?" Jackson asked, "Was he in the mines, like you thought?"

_"What about Josh?"_

_"It got him."_

"No."

"So, what, you went back to the lodge to wait it out?"

"Uh, yeah. But the guy, he'd uh, he'd done something. Cut the gas lines. Rigged the whole place up to blow." Thoughts of Emily and Ashley's panicked screaming, of Mike's face frozen in fear and determination, of Hannah screeching in her ear, temporarily flooded her consciousness. "and, uh, and Mike, he—" her voice cracked. She swallowed. "Mike made sure everyone got out before him, but he didn't make it out before—" She stopped, and lowered her head. Jackson's eyes were clouded. For a minute or so he was silent. Then—

"Why did you wait this long to tell me?"

Then, finally, Sam said something truthful.

"I didn't think you'd believe it."

"Okay," Jackson mumbled. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I guess that's—uh—Okay, thanks for finally telling me. I guess."

"You deserved to know the truth." Sam said. The words felt like daggers in her gut.

Jackson left shortly after that. Sam sat on the bench, half hunched over, trying her best to bury her guilt. It was over. She was done. Could focus on healing and living and forgetting.

A butterfly flew lazily by, its wings bright and warm in the afternoon sun. Sam closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing.

\------------

"But I love those things!"

"If you love something, let it go, Samantha. 'Specially if that 'something' is caked in dirt and smells like a dead dog."

Sam pouted as Jessica held her girlfriend's ancient, trashed hiking boots by the laces over the garbage can. Jess had seen many puppy-dog faces in her time, but Sam's was truly something else. It rivaled her own, if she was being honest. Yet still she would not be moved so easily. The shoes reeked, and Sam, like Ash, was long in need of a wardrobe revamp.

She and Emily were going to have a lot of work on their hands.

Jess hadn't been out much over the past few months. Beyond the cliffs, the Girls' Night, and her few excursions with Emily, the only places she get safe were her own house, and, when she was feeling up to it, Emily's. But somehow Sam had managed to convince her to spend an afternoon at her place, lazing around and drinking lemonade while whatever weird indie bands Sam liked played over the radio. Jess scratched at the cuff of her sleeve with her free hand while her other one dangled the shoes up and down over the bin.

Sam sighed and shook her head.

"Please tell me this isn't part of some larger plot to get me all gussied up or something, is it?"

Jessica smiled sweetly at her.

"Sam, honey," she cooed, "Of  _course_ it is." And with a definitive  _plunk,_ she threw the shoes in the trash. Sam kept her eyes on the bin, looking like she'd just watched Old Yeller get put down right in front of her, as Jess walked back over to her. She was able to get most places indoors without the cane, now. "Besides, you can't hold on to old things for too long, you know? Eventually you've just gotta cut out the excess and move on."

Sam smiled a little.

"That's a good philosophy, I guess."

There was something dark under the warm green of her eyes.

"Hey, what's up?" Jessica asked, "You look kind of out of it."

Sam met her eyes, no longer bothering to mask the sorrow there.

"I talked to Jackson today."

Jessica's breath hitched. She'd done her best to block Mike out of her brain, to suppress every thought and memory of him, and now at the mention of his little brother every last memory of him came flooding back in a heartbeat. Jess bit back a dry sob and steadied herself.

"Wha-what...what did he say...?" she stammered out at last.

"He just...he wanted to know for sure what happened to Mike and I...I..." She took her arm in one hand and squeezed the flesh there until it turned white. "I lied. I told him the flamethrower dude did everything."

"Well," Jess said, forcing her tone to be cheery and light, "That's not...so bad, I mean, no one would believe what actually happened."

Sam looked like she was going to say more, but then she caught herself.

"Uh," she said, "Speaking of...of all that...I guess I never asked, but, um...how much do you know?"

Jessica blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, how much do you know about what happened to us, and, like, what those things were, and stuff?"

Jess coughed.

"Uh, not much. I guess, just...I know that the thing that took me wasn't, like...human. And that it was trying to kill everyone and, like, uh, that's really it."

Sam took a deep breath.

"What do you wanna know."

Jess hesitated. Her instinct was to say, "everything," but in reality she probably wasn't in the place to hear everything just yet. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and thought.

"Just the basics, I guess. What the guy with the flamethrower thing told you. And whatever it was that happened with Josh."

Sam looked away and back.

"This is gonna be a long story," she said. "We should sit down."

The sun was starting to set by the time Sam was done. The golden evening light dipped the floorboards in amber. Jessica stared at her feet and said nothing. 

"You okay?"

Sam was looking at her with that mother bird look of concern again.

"It's just...a lot to process."

Sam nodded stiffly and turned away, staring out the window and the trees turned gold in the light of the falling summer sun. Then she got up from her armchair and walked over to Jess, sitting down beside her and resting her head on her shoulder. Jess closed her eyes and listened to the sound of Sam breathing, slowly and deep, in and out. A lone bird cried out from the trees in her backyard.

"Do you ever worry that we'll never really be okay again?" she whispered.

"Yeah," was all Sam said at first. "But, I just feel like, the more we worry about that, the harder it's gonna be to  _make_  ourselvesokay again, you know? It's like when you break a bone. You've gotta rest it for a bit, and then you've gotta get back to making it strong again. We can't spend too much time worrying about what we can't change, you know? We've just gotta try to keep going. That's, like, super cliché and stuff, but I think it's true."

 _I have to tell myself it's true or I wouldn't be able to keep going,_ was the unspoken sentiment.

"I'm glad I have you," Sam said. "And Em and Ash too. I don't think I could do this by myself."

"Yeah..."

"We'll be okay, Jess. Mike always said you were one of the toughest girls he ever knew. And the more time I spend with you, the more I feel like he was more right than he knew."

Jessica couldn't think of what to say to that, so she just nestled into Sam and closed her eyes again.

They sat there together, broken, healing sentinels unto one another, until they both dozed off.

\------------

Emily was a lot of things. Sentimental was not one of them.

And so when she found herself buying bouquets by the armful the Saturday afternoon before her date with the others, she couldn't help but be amused. Matt would've taken one look at her and wondered if he'd stepped into some bizarre parallel universe.

Irises for Sam, amaryllises for Jess, white tulips for Ash. She couldn't help but hope that the God of Love was watching and would give her some kind of reward for this, especially because the pollen was making her nose itch.

"Will that be all, miss?" the florist asked. She was a tall, willowy thing with dirty blonde hair and grey eyes that looked too old to be in a body so young.

"That'll do," Emily told her. She forked over the car for the flowers and made her way to her car, three bulky bouquets in tow. On her way there, she caught sight of Robyn and a few of her friends walking down the street. Without really meaning to, she caught her dead boyfriend's sister's eye. Robyn looked at her but did not stop. Nervously, Emily offered her a small nod.

After a moment or two, Robyn nodded back.

The drive to Jessica's place was uneventful. Emily leaned back and rolled down the windows a bit, enjoying the evening breeze and feeling content on her own for the first time since before the mountain. The evening traffic made her late, but not shockingly so. Em spent the time stuck in traffic mentally rehearsing her role in the date and turning her radio dial mindlessly, listening to the sound of snippets of broadcasts and catches of songs being swallowed in static mid-note.

By the time she finally got there, it was almost dark. The cloudless evening sky was a faded, dusty blue, tinged around the edges with dark pink. The windows of Jessica's house were leaking with light, and as she got closer she cold just hear the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter. Emily steadied the flowers in her arms and sniffed a little. Fucking allergies.

It was one of Jessica's dads who opened the door.

"Hey, Em! Need help with those?"

"I got it," Emily told him, and squeezed through the door, some of the flowers catching on the doorframe.

They were in the backyard, setting up an ancient-looking projector and screen in front of a small gathering of plastic lawn chairs. Jess's brothers, who were helping Sam with handing a bedsheets over a canvass (the "screen", Em supposed), looked up at her and smiled in almost-unison.

"Look who's late, Jess."

Jessica looked up from her lawn chair, a fresh glass of lemonade held in her hand.

"Pfft, as usual."

"I'm being fashionably late," Emily grumbled, "Now somebody help me with these fucking flowers before I die of hay fever."

Sam moved over to her and offered her a hand. Emily shoved the irises into her hand.

"Those are for you. Ash? Get your scrawny ass over here. I've got something for you."

Ashley looked up from the projector.

"Those flowers aren't poisoned, are they?"

"Aw man, now you give me the idea," Emily snarked, a smirk twisting her lips. Ashley rolled her eyes and strolled over to her. Emily gave her the tulips.

"Thanks, Em," Ashley said, her cheeks flushing adorably.

"Yeah, really, thanks," Sam piped up.

Jess came up last, smiling knowingly.

"Wouldn't have taken you for a secret sap, Em."

"Yeah, well," Emily said, "Having a tragic gay awakening does strange things to people."

She took the amaryllises out of Emily's arms and smelled them, smiling a little.

"They're beautiful," she said, "Thanks, Emily." She leaned over and gave Em a soft kiss on the cheek.

Now it was Emily's turn to blush.

"Okay!" Sam said, getting everyone's attention, "How about we put the flowers inside and get this all set up, yeah?"

Night had just fallen as they all finished up and Jessica's brothers went back inside, leaving the girls to their film. They'd decided to continue their Disney marathon, this time with  _The Aristocats._ Emily couldn't help but smile a little; the film had been one of her favorites growing up.

They watched in companionable silence, sipping lemonade and stealing glances at one another in the filtered, flickering light of the projector. When it was done, the all flopped down together in the grass, feeling the soft, humid air of early summer on their faces and staring up at the sky.

"I wish we could see the stars," Ashley said after a while, "Light pollution's too thick around here."

"We should all go to the Redwoods sometime," Sam said, "Go camping together."

"With all the bugs and nature and shit? Gross," Emily replied, "I'd rather just watch dumb cartoons and hang out in civilization."

"It's true, you can't have Emily out of the city for too long, or she'll turn into a terrible swamp witch," Jess fake-whispered to the others, "I've seen it happen, it's horrific."

"Fuck all of you, honestly."

"Now _there's_ an idea," Jessica said.

All four of them started to laugh. It was a strange feeling. After the mountain, Emily had thought she'd never be able to really feel joy again. But here she way, lying on her back with the girls she loved and hated and would die for in an instant, laughing until tears sprung up in her eyes. There was something to it, though. Since the mountain, all the emotions she'd spent her entire life repressing and hiding away just came out, and while Em was sometimes afraid they'd rule her, in such fleeting moments of happiness as this one, she felt for one of the few times in her life that she could just lie back and genuinely enjoy the feeling. Of laughter, of relief, of bewilderment and hope and perhaps even freedom, lying there in the back yard of a nondescript LA house in a nondescript LA suburb, being nothing more than an ordinary teenager having a laugh.

She'd have to go back to carrying the burden of her fears and regrets and scars soon enough, but not tonight.

The night was warm and sweet and caring, like a mother. A soft breeze rustled the bedsheet beside them and the moon, full and bright and plump, shone protectively down upon them.

On that night there were no monsters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This was a blast to write (I mean, it wasn't fun to torture these kids, but you know what I mean). I feel very passionately about the women of this game, so I thought this might be a nice way to honor them!
> 
> Some notes on the chapter titles: so I am a total nerd with no life, and as such, I have some pretty dorky interests. One of those is flower symbolism. I mostly used Victorian flower language but I did deviate sometimes.
> 
> 1\. Chrysanthemum: These flowers are used in funerals in some European countries like France, Hungary, Belgium, Croatia and Poland, among others. In China, Japan and Korea, chrysanthemums represent grief or lamentation.
> 
> 2\. Asphodel: The ancient Greeks associated the flower asphodel with the afterlife, and the flowers were said to bloom in the fields of the heavenly paradise Elysium. The Victorian meaning of the asphodel is "my regrets follow you to the grave".
> 
> 3\. Marigold: This flower has a lot of meanings, but the Victorians associated this flower with grief, despair, and sorrow, particularly stemming from lost love. It is also associated with cruelty and coldness as a result of jealousy.
> 
> 4\. Snowdrop: In the Biblical story in which Eve is cast out of Eden and is enduring her first winter in the harsher world beyond, an angel comforts her with a snowdrop blooming in the snow. In many cultures, snowdrops symbolize hope, rebirth and consolation. Interestingly, the Victorians actually saw the snowdrop as an omen of death.
> 
> 5\. Daffodil: This flower has a whole lot of different meanings, depending on the culture. Its association with Easter gives it a meaning of rebirth. It also symbolizes forgiveness (something key in any post-UD story, especially those involving Emily, High Queen of Never Letting Shit Go), hope, self-esteem and female ambition.
> 
> 6\. Delphinium: The name for these flowers comes from the Greek word for "dolphin". They look like dolphins apparently. I don't really see it. Anyway. These flowers are fairly common in Europe and were used in the middle ages as a homemade medicine. Symbolically, they've come to mean a number of things, including new opportunities and openness to new experiences and relationships, particularly romantic ones.
> 
> 7\. Plumeria: These flowers are among my personal favorites. Found mostly in South/Central America, the Pacific, and certain parts of South Asia, these flowers often represent rebirth, new beginnings, devotion and love.
> 
> So if anyone was wondering why I kept using pretty flowers in this long-winded tale of grief and trauma, that's why!
> 
> tl;dr I like flowers. They have some cool meanings. That's how I named the chapters.
> 
> As always, feedback is wholeheartedly appreciated.
> 
> By the way, if you guys would be interested in a sequel to this fic, please let me know in the comments.
> 
> Thanks again!


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